


Critical Miss(ion)

by insomnia1999, whatthefoucault



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Art, Avengers AU, Avengers Family, Captain America Bucky Barnes, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Captain America Sam Wilson, Captain America Steve Rogers, Characters play D&D, D&D, D&D Characters POV, Domestic Avengers, Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Fantasy elements, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Thor (background), Not Canon Compliant, Original D&D characters - Freeform, POV Multiple, do not repost to another site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-14 15:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19275793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insomnia1999/pseuds/insomnia1999, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: When Bucky messes up on his second solo mission as Captain America he expects a lot of things – a write-up, extra paperwork, remedial training. Heck, even being fired.What he doesn't expect is being told to play Dungeons & Dragons.Featuring the Avengers as Family, D&D games, and a whole lot of snacks.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This collaboration for the CapRBB 2019 wouldn't have been possible without [whatthefoucault's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault) fantastic art and wonderful suggestions. (You were a joy to work with and thank you for the extra art!) 
> 
> You can see the art [ here](https://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/185698172476/in-which-long-suffering-dm-sam-has-already-had-it) and [here](https://whatthefoucault.tumblr.com/post/185698180311/do-you-steve-blinked-do-you-cater-your-dd)!
> 
> I'd also like to Thank [Cryo_Bucky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryo_Bucky) for being such an amazing beta. And finally, thank you to the mods who made the CapRBB possible. 
> 
> ~ ~ ~
> 
> This story takes place in a Universe without Thanos. So, no Battle of New York, etc. Bucky has been rescued from Hydra and The Avengers all live/work at the Tower or the upstate facility.

  
  


  


_**Chapter 1**_

“Do you have any blackberry?” Steve looked up from the pies in the display case and smiled at the woman who'd been helping him. 

“I can check in the back?” she said, already turning to go. 

“Could you?” Steve asked hopefully. “Thanks.” 

Steve took a glance at his watch. Shit. It was almost five. Bucky should be finished with his meeting soon. Steve ground his teeth at the thought. Meeting, more like scapegoating was what it was... And from what Agent Black had told Sharon, who had told Steve, Bucky was going to need all the baked goods he could get. 

“How's this?” the woman returned holding a treasure. The pie's crust was thick with sugar, hints of purple staining the top. 

“Perfect,” Steve said. 

“Will that be all?” 

Steve glanced at the pile of boxes already stacked by the register. That should be enough, right? Maybe ice cream, too? There was that ice cream place in Midtown. If he rushed he could probably pick some up... 

“Yes, thanks. You've been a great help. Really,” he said, sliding a twenty into the tip jar. 

A few minutes later he was wrangling his over-full shopping bags into the back seat of the SUV and headed home. He winced, glancing at the clock on the dash. It wasn't that far, but mid-town traffic? At five? He hit the button on the steering wheel to activate the phone. 

“Call Friday.” 

“Friday here, Cap,” Friday answered crisply in her Irish lilt. “Is there an emergency? Should I call an Assemble?” 

“No, no, nothing like that,” Steve swore, stopping at yet another light. “It's an emergency of another kind. Do you know that ice cream place with the booze? The one Bucky likes so much?” 

“The Tipsy Scoop?” Friday asked. 

“That's the one. Could you call in an order for me?” 

“Of course, Cap,” Friday said cheerfully. “That's a great idea. From what I hear, Captain Bucky is going to need all the cheering up he can get. Shall I order all his favorites, have them delivered ASAP?” 

“Yeah, yes,” Steve sighed. He knew he had to ask. “So just what have you heard, Friday?” 

“Well,” Friday lowered her voice, “according to Robby, the AI in Colonel Fury's car? Fury himself asked Maria to ask Coulson to personally sit in on Captain Bucky's after-action meeting. Especially when he found out that the director of CIA field operations was going to be there.” 

“Jesus,” Steve winced. It was worse than he'd thought. 

“Don't worry, Cap!” Friday said brightly. “I'm sure it will be fine. We all know Captain Bucky did his best. I'm sure Agent Coulson will make them see that.” 

“I hope so,” Steve muttered, cutting the call. This whole thing had been a disaster from the beginning. 

He tried to drive faster but ended up slamming on the brakes in the face of some jay-walking tourists. The taxi driver next to him gave them a taste of New York's finest curses, and for a fleeting second, Steve wished he could do the same. 

God damn it. Bucky had asked him to stay out of this, but maybe he should go down there, anyway. Put the fear of original Captain America into everyone involved in this clusterfuck. 

By the time he'd pulled into the garage and then keyed into the private elevator, he'd already composed four “Captain America is Disappointed in you” speeches, each one more salty than the last. 

He heard the bags in his arms start to creak and loosened his grip. Wouldn't that just be great? Smush Bucky's sweets before he even got to see them. 

The doors slid open on his foyer, Sam leaning on the wall by the door, two six-packs of craft beer at his feet. 

“Hey, Sam,” Steve smiled. “You could have had Friday let you in.” 

“Oh, no, man,” Sam gave a fake shudder. “I learned that lesson in college. Never go in uninvited. You'll see things you can never unsee.” 

“Right,” Steve nodded, leading the way into his floor. “So you heard?” 

“Yeah,” Sam shook his head. “I heard. I called Maria as soon as word got out they'd suddenly re-scheduled the after-action for today. She thinks the CIA is going to try and pin this whole damn mess on your boy.” He opened the fridge and shoved in one of the six packs. “And I guess that's why you've got an entire bakery in your arms there.” 

Steve nodded, unpacking his bags. “Better sugar than that beer. You know it's not going to have any effect on Bucky.” 

“Oh, hell, no,” Sam grinned. “This beer is for me. I figure once they fire Bucky, you're going to go storming down there and get fired, too. Leave me as the only Captain America.” 

“You think they're going to fire Bucky?” Steve froze, the pie he was holding almost sliding off the plate. 

“No, course not,” Sam rolled his eyes. “It was a joke, Steve. They can't fire one of the Captains America. We just got the damn schedule worked out.” 

“But you think they'll do something,” Steve sighed. 

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe we're worrying for nothing. Shield will have his back on this, right?” 

“Yeah. I just wish-” Steve trailed off, shoulders slumping. He wished he'd been on Cap duty when the CIA had called for help. Bucky was too new to this, too easy to pin blame on after his Winter Soldier days. 

They both started at the sound of the door chime, followed by the door opening and the click of heels on the hardwood floor. 

Pepper came around the corner, an insulated bag in each hand. 

“Friday said you had an ice cream emergency?” Pepper set the bags on the counter and started pulling out pint containers. 

“Pepper, thank you,” Steve moved to help. “But you didn't have to get it yourself.” 

“Oh, yes I did,” Pepper waggled a container. “My delivery fee - one Mango Margarita Sorbet.” 

“I ordered two each of the bourbon vanilla, spiked hazelnut coffee, dark chocolate whiskey salted caramel, and _six_ of the maple bacon bourbon,” Friday offered. 

Steve paused a pint in each hand. “How the hell am I going to get all this in our freezer?” 

“Oh, I'm sure I have room in mine,” Sam said, grabbing a maple bacon bourbon. 

“I'd suggest the common floor freezer,” Pepper laughed, “but we all know it wouldn't last two minutes down there.” 

“Captain Steve?” Friday said. “Captain Bucky has left Shield. ETA 30 minutes.” 

“I'll get out of your hair,” Pepper called over her shoulder, “but just remember, if you need anything, let me know. Stark Industries might not make weapons anymore, but we've still got a lot of pull. And if all else fails, I can always sic Tony on them!” 

“Do you want me to go, too?” Sam asked. 

“Not yet,” Steve shook his head. “I'm hoping Bucky will fill us in what happened. Before we hear it at the next briefing.” 

“Sorry,” Friday interrupted. “Revised ETA is now 10 minutes.” 

“Ten minutes?” Sam stopped with a spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. “What, is he flying?” 

“No, but I just caught him on a traffic cam, cutting lights by using the sidewalk. So far there are no civilian casualties!” Friday said cheerfully. 

“That can't be good,” Steve sighed, prying the lid off a carton of vanilla bourbon. 

“No, it can not,” Sam agreed. 

Slightly less then ten minutes later the door slammed open, Bucky storming in, his hair a tangled mess. He skidded to a halt, eyes narrow. 

“Wow,” Bucky's eyes darted around the kitchen. “So, I'm gone all day and you decide to throw a party? You invite everyone?” 

“No,” Steve leaned back against the counter. “It's just us Caps.” 

“Just us?” Bucky narrowed his eyes. “And you think we need cinnamon rolls, baklava, sugar cookies, two cakes, and a pie?” 

“Don't forget the ice cream,” Sam added, waving his spoon in the air. 

“Oh, yeah, can't forget that,” Bucky sighed, taking off his jacket and throwing it vaguely in the direction of a kitchen chair. 

“I just. I heard-- I thought you might need some cheering up. That's all,” Steve smiled, holding out the plate of smiley face sugar cookies. 

“Yeah, you heard, huh? Captain America fucks up. Film at 11,” Bucky grabbed a cookie, viciously biting the smile off its face. 

“It wasn't your fault, Bucky,” Steve frowned. “That Op was fucked long before you got there.” 

“No,” Bucky slumped against the counter. “They're right. Once I got there I should have-” 

“No,” Steve shook his head. “Listen, I can go talk to them -” 

“You can't keep fighting my battles, Steve.” 

“It was only your second solo outing as Cap. They can't expect-” 

“Two agents almost died -” 

“That wasn't your fault!” Steve practically shouted. 

“Look, guys,” Sam interrupted. “We don't need to rehash what happened last week. What we need to know is what happened today. Are they making you take the fall for this? 'Cause man, in that case, I gotta agree with Steve-” 

“No,” Bucky sighed, grabbing his jacket off the floor. He pulled some papers out of the pocket and tossed them to Steve. “Nothing like that.” 

Sam crowded in to read over Steve's shoulder. 

Bucky grabbed a fork and sat down at the table, digging into the center of the blackberry pie. 

Steve read down the page, muttering as he went. “Failure of process – new checks to communication – update to procedures – synergies with cross-agency communications – review standard procedures – guided real life-roleplaying sessions...” 

“They're saying it was all a failure of communication?” Sam looked up. 

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled around a mouthful of pie. “Coulson brought them around to agreeing it was just miscommunication – on both Agencies parts,” he finished quickly before Steve could say anything. 

“And you agreed to that?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, leaning back. “I did.” 

“Bucky-” Steve started. 

“They had a point, Steve,” Bucky shrugged. “I could have done better. I mean, it wasn't as bad as my Hydra days, but we all know I'm a shoot first, talk later kind of guy.” 

“So what happens now?” Steve crossed his arms. 

“Now I've got to complete 60 hours of approved communications training,” Bucky said, nodding to the papers in Sam's hand. “Before I can get back on active duty.” 

Sam hummed, reading down the list. 

“Hey, Buckmiester?” Sam stopped reading. “Coulson made this list, didn't he? The one the CIA signed off on?” 

“I don't know,” Bucky waved his fork. “Probably. Why?” 

“Because one of your approved options for 'guided real-life role-play' is D&D!” 

“D&D?” Steve's forehead wrinkled. “What the hell is D&D?” Whatever it was, it probably wouldn't be as satisfying as punching the CIA team leader in the face. 

“D&D, Dungeons and Dragons! It's a game where you-” Sam paused. “Did you just eat the center out of that pie? And leave a ring of crust for the rest of us?” 

“No?” Bucky looked up from the demolished pie, mouth stained purple. 

“Mmhm,” Sam snatched the fork out of Bucky's hand. “Well, lucky for you I'm a nice guy. Because not only are we going to do this, _I'm_ going to be your new Dungeon Master.” 

  



	2. Chapter 2

  


Steve frowned at his tablet. Who the hell had come up with this system? Saving throws? Rolling for initiative? That's not how combat worked. And this whole Armor Class section - why not just start at zero equals naked and go up? 

Of course, it would be easier if knew which version of Dungeons & Dragons Sam planned on running. First edition? Second edition? 5th? And what the hell was 4e? It was all very confusing. He'd ask, but Sam had been called out on Cap duty. 

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. Sure, there were scientific papers written on how D&D improved communication, fostered problem-solving and helped team-building skills. It even looked like it might be fun. 

But damn it, it was still a forced exercise. For something that ultimately wasn't Bucky's fault. 

Of course, Bucky didn't seem to mind. 

Two days ago Bucky had watched the Hobbit trilogy. Yesterday it had been all 12 hours of _The Lord of the Rings_ movies. 

Now he was lying on the couch, one foot thrown over the back, a tall stack of fantasy books on the floor next to him. He had a pink highlighter clenched in his teeth, making him look like some kind of reading pirate, periodically murmuring something in what sounded like _Elvish_. 

Steve shook his head. The sooner they finished this and got Bucky back on the roster, the better. 

~ ~ ~ 

Sam looked out over the lights of Manhattan, stretching his arms over his head, trying to work out the kink in his right shoulder. He'd never say it out loud, but man, there were some days he wished he had a little Super Soldier serum. He should get double, no triple points for being Cap while _flying,_ let alone doing it without freaky science steroids. 

A soft chime interrupted his thoughts, letting him know he had a low-priority message. 

For a second he debated answering. It had been a long couple of days, taking out an AIM cell in Phoenix. Shit, if he was going to take over the world, the last place he'd start was goddamned _Arizona._

“Yeah, Friday,” Sam said. “What you got for me?” 

“Captain Sam! I've got a message from Dr. Bruce!” Friday said cheerfully. “He'd like to talk about the D&D game you're planning? When you have some free time.” 

“He heard about that?” 

“Oh, yes,” Friday said. “Captain Bucky wanted some more reading material and Bruce has quite the collection. They spent hours yesterday talking about D&D.” 

“I... did not know Bruce played. ” Sam thought it over. He was sore, but not particularly tired. “Tell Bruce I'm free now if he wants to chat.” 

There was a brief pause before Friday responded. 

“Dr. Bruce says that it might be easier if you'd meet him in his room?” 

Sam shrugged. He'd never been to Bruce's floor before, but it was supposed to really Zen. 

A short elevator ride later and Sam was stepping into Bruce's living room. 

He blinked, then blinked again. This, this was not Zen. 

It looked like a gaming shop had exploded. 

Books, gaming modules and _Dragon_ magazines were stacked high on the end tables and piled on the floor. Dice and dice bags littered the coffee table. Around the corner he could see a veritable army of miniatures, battling it out on the kitchen table. 

Bruce waved him over to the couch, where he'd cleared enough space to sit. 

“Ah,” Bruce looked around sheepishly. “I had a few things in storage?” 

“Uh-huh,” Sam picked up _Deities and Demi-gods_ off the table. 

“Ah, careful with that,” Bruce flinched. “It's the first edition printing. With the Cthulhu and Elric of Melniboné pantheons? They had to take those out next printing.” 

“'Cause of copyright issues,” Sam set the book down gingerly. “I remember my group in DC talking about it. Never thought I'd see one.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bruce shrugged. “I bought that back in '81.” 

“You've been playing that long?” Sam asked, impressed. 

“I started playing in high school,” Bruce picked up a handful of dice, rolling them in his hand. “I didn't start DM'ing until college. In fact, some of my best college memories were playing D&D. I remember Betty used to play this really kick-ass female elven ranger named Arwen...” He trailed off, letting the dice slide through his fingers. 

“Anyway,” Bruce cleared his throat, “after -- _After_ , Betty put all this in storage for me. I hadn't thought about it in ages. But when I heard you were running a D&D game, I had it shipped overnight delivery.” 

“Well, you are definitely welcome to play,” Sam said. “But are you sure you don't want to DM? I mean, I ran a few games back at the VA. But it sounds like you are worlds more experienced than I am.” 

“Ah, no,” Bruce ran a hand sheepishly through his hair. “I don't think DM'ing would be a good idea. I remember how frustrating it was – you spend days or weeks prepping a module and then the party blows it off? Or the fights over rules? Not sure how the Other Guy would handle that. I think I'll stick to playing, for now, get a feel for it again.” 

“What else you got in there?” Sam nodded to a huge stack of notebooks and heavy ring-binders. 

“Well, I've got the custom gaming system I put together,” He pulled a red binder out of the stack and rubbed the cover fondly. 

“You wrote your own game? Don't you have like five Ph.D.'s? When did you have time?” Shit, he'd had enough trouble getting a BS. 

“Seven,” Bruce corrected. He leaned forward, “To tell the truth, what I did was “borrow” what I liked from other RPG's. Sort of a compilation of D&D, Gamelord's Thieves Guild, a couple of others. There are a lot of original tables though – to roll up weather, horses, character hobbies, stuff like that.” 

“Still,” Sam said. “That's some dedication. You mind if I borrow it?” 

“No, no,” Bruce's face lit up. “Not at all! Feel free to use anything!” 

“So,” Sam glanced around. “What kind of modules you got?” 

~ ~ ~ 

Thor came to a landing on top of Avenger's Tower, the lights of the Bi-frost fading around him. 

“Thank you, good Heimdall!” He shouted to the sky as he ran to the elevator. It had taken entirely too long to find what he'd been looking for. 

“Hello, Thor!” Friday greeted him. “Where to?” 

“To Sam Wilson, please.” 

“Sam is still on the common floor,” Friday answered and Thor breathed a sigh of relief; not too late, then. 

Indeed, Sam and Bruce were still rolling dice, books and charts spread all over the largest common room table. He quickly slid into the chair next to Bruce, giving him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

“I am late - my apologies. I had to track these down.” He jiggled the small bag clutched in his hand, feeling the weight of the dice inside. 

“You want to play D&D?” Sam sounded surprised. 

“You do not want me as a player?” Thor blinked rapidly. He had assumed- 

“Yeah, of course we do,” Sam leaned forward. “You're welcome to play. I just thought – I mean, hell, your everyday life is a fantasy - slaying dragons, killing monsters. Won't this seem kinda boring?” 

“Nay,” Thor said. “I am sure it will be very entertaining. Loki spent many an hour playing a game very like this when we were children.” 

“Why doesn't that surprise me?” Bruce shook his head. 

“Just Loki? Not you?” Sam asked, sliding a character sheet over to Thor. 

“No,” Thor shook his head sadly. “My brother would often beg me to join him. But I would always refuse. I thought his bookish pursuits a waste of time and often told him so. Something I regret, now that he is gone.” 

“Right,” Sam nodded slowly. 

“Ah, Thor, you know that Loki probably isn't -” Bruce started, then stopped as Thor undid the laces on the green leather bag, tipping a multitude of green and gold dice out onto the table. The gold runes on the empty bag seemed to flash as Thor tossed it to the side. 

“Are those _Loki's_ dice?” Sam edged slowly away from the table. 

“Aye!” Thor nodded. “I wish to play your Midgardian role-playing game in memory of my dear Brother. And what better way than to use his dice?” 

~ ~ ~ 

Sam sighed. It had been a long day. Rolling up characters was always the most tedious part of the game. Especially since he'd wanted everyone to roll up separately. Well, except for Thor and Bruce of course. It made sense they'd know each other's backstories and stats. 

He'd just finished scooping the last of the dice into their bag when Tony Stark came skidding around the corner. He slid into the chair across from Sam, fingers already flying over one of his ubiquitous tablets. 

“Hi, OK,” Tony threw a hologram off his tablet and into the air. “So, I used a random number generator and rolled over ten thousand sets of stats, and came up with these three.” Sam squinted at the numbers hanging in the air, not a one under 15. One had four eighteens and two sixteens. 

“And,” Tony rushed on, “I know you told us not to add modifiers, but I figure if I play a female half-elf I can optimize all my stats and be a fighter/thief/mage-” 

“No, uh-uh,” Sam interrupted firmly. “We're doing this the old fashioned way. That means actually rolling dice.” He shoved a bag of dice and a pencil and paper across the table. “And no triple class characters. Pick two.” 

Tony squinted at the bag. “Are you serious? Physical dice? In this day and age?” 

“Yep,” Sam sat back. “It's part of the experience. So get to work. Roll those bones.” 

“I suppose you have an approved method?” Tony said, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yep,” Sam leaned back, crossing his arms. “You can roll up to ten sets of numbers and pick the best set – _ten,_ not ten thousand. Use 4d6 and ignore the lowest die.” 

“Do we get to assign the numbers to whatever stat we want, or is it fixed?” Tony slid the dice bag over and dumped the whole bag onto the table. He started poking through them, obviously looking for four matching d6's. 

“Yeah, you can rearrange the numbers,” Sam sighed. “Oh, and there are ten stats you're rolling for.” 

“Ten?” Tony looked up. “D&D uses six. Strength, Intelligence, Wisdom, Dexterity, Constitution, and Charisma.” 

“Well, we're using Bruce's system,” Sam rolled his eyes. “So it's Strength, Stamina, Reflexes, Coordination, Intelligence, Wisdom, Talent/Luck, Magic Resistance, Magnetism and Appearance.” 

“Fine, I'll do it your way... mostly.” Tony grimaced at the pencil and picked up his tablet instead. “This is the twenty-first century. I hope we're not restricted to doing _everything_ like it's 1984.” 

“'Course not,” Sam rolled his eyes. “I got myself one of the most sophisticated AI's on the planet as an assistant. Right, Friday?” 

“You bet, Game-master Samwise!” Friday said cheerfully. “I've already generated maps, population density, weather, and a wide variety of NPC's for you!” 

“Now you're corrupting my AI?” Tony looked up. “Why don't you just have her roll up her own character?” 

“Oh, he did offer, boss. I watched some games online, but I'm not sure I have a feel for it yet. I thought this might be better.” 

“I can still be a half-elf, right?” Tony shook the six-sided dice, narrowed eyes and tossed them. 

“Sure,” Sam said. “That's not a problem.” 

“And I want her to have some red and gold armor, but low-cut. You know, to show off her cleavage,” Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “But I want it to be magic. So I don't actually lose Armor Class.” 

“Uh,” Sam narrowed his eyes. “You know that's not how 1st level characters-” 

“She's Chaotic Evil and has a homunculus named 'Stupid' for a familiar,” Tony continued, entering his numbers as he rolled them. 

“No, no, and NO,” Sam said firmly. “This isn't just a regular D&D game, remember? It's a Guided Therapy role-playing exercise. So, no evil characters.” 

Tony's eyes shot up. “I can't be Evil? Seriously?” 

“You can be Chaotic Neutral if you want.” 

“Well, that sucks.” 

“You don't have to play-” 

“No, no,” Tony sighed. “I get it. Not a problem - I'm a team player. I can work within the rules.” 

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Right...the day _any_ of the Avengers played within the rules was the day Orcs could fly. 

“So, I can still have the armor, right?” 

  



	3. Chapter 3

  


Bucky sat at the table, tapping his foot, fidgeting with the string on his dice bag. He checked the time again - still not 1 pm. Shit, he was as nervous as if he were going on a _real_ Op, not just heading to Sam's floor to play D&D. 

He glanced over his character sheet one more time, feeling pretty good about his choices. Cellinor Therón, Elven Druid, was about to have his official debut. 

He caught sight of Steve's character folder on the counter and his fingers itched to open it. Just what kind of character had Steve rolled up? A paladin? Or maybe a ranger? 

Sam had told them not to share anything about their characters with anyone. It made sense. It's not like their _characters_ would know each other - not until they met at the start of the game. But Steve had been trying to peek at Bucky's character sheet all week, grumbling about unnecessary secrecy. 

If someone had told him he'd be using his spy skills to hide a D&D character from his very nosey boyfriend... He shook his head. Just when he thought life couldn't get any weirder. 

OK, it was ten 'til. Close enough. 

“Steve?” Bucky shouted. “You ready to go?” 

“Yeah!” Steve yelled from the bedroom. “You got the snacks?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course he had the bag of snacks. He'd even stayed out of them. Mostly. OK, so he'd eaten half a bag of Funyuns. So sue him. 

Steve slid up to him, giving Bucky a quick kiss before he picked up his folder. 

“You got your dice?” Bucky asked, grabbing his bag off the table. He'd made it himself – deep blue with silver stars. 

“Yeah, they're in my pocket,” Steve patted the front of his jeans. 

Bucky shook his head sadly. 

“What?” Steve frowned. “I don't see why you need more than one set.” 

“Whatever,” Bucky said, heading toward the door. Time to get this party started. 

~ ~ ~ 

The door to Sam's place was propped open when they got there and Bucky followed the sound of voices into the living room. 

Sam had borrowed one of the large tables from the common room and set it in the center of the room. It looked like his kitchen table was doing duty as the snack station. It was already home to a bag of cheese puffs, a bowl of pretzels and a _lot_ of 2L bottles of soda. 

Nat and Sam were already seated at the table, Nat with a huge bag of dice in front of her, along with a shiny, two-pocket unicorn folder. 

“Hey, Nat,” Steve said, “I didn't know you were playing.” 

“Oh, I love tabletop games,” Nat waved a pencil through the air, a pink-haired Troll doll dressed like a [ wizard ](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/9/93/Wizard_troll_doll-low_res.jpg/220px-Wizard_troll_doll-low_res.jpg) sitting on the end of it. “I play all the time. Great way to kill time when you're laying low at a safe-house.” 

“Is Clint playing too?” Bucky asked, dropping into the chair next to Steve. He nodded to the three open chairs at the table. 

“No,” Nat rolled her eyes. “He says he can't play with anyone else, now that he's had Phil for a _Dungeon Master_. He's been spoiled for anyone else.” 

Bucky swallowed, glancing over at Steve. Was - was that a euphemism? Great, now he was picturing Phil and Clint doing a _different_ kind of roleplaying. From the way Steve was turning red, so was he. 

“Hello?” 

Thank god, Bruce was here. Maybe he could think about something else now. 

Bruce came in, a bag of chips in one hand, and a case of root beer in the other. Thor was right behind him, carrying two black, hard-sided suitcases. 

“Wow,” Steve said. “You need some help with that?” 

“Nay,” Thor said, dropping the cases next to one of the free chairs. “They are not too heavy. Bruce pared them down to the essentials.” 

“I figured if I didn't have it here, I could always run back upstairs,” Bruce shrugged, settling into his seat. He opened one of the cases and started setting things on the table – three dice bags, two notebooks, four pens in different colors, a pencil. He set another smaller box down in front of him, before finally pulling out a character sheet. He slid a notebook over it to hide it from view. 

“Holy cow,” Steve said. “Do we really need all that?” He looked down at his single set of dice and character sheet. 

“No, but I like to have it,” Bruce smiled. “Oh, don't worry about the those,” he waved at the other case. “I wasn't sure what everyone's characters were going to be, so I brought a wide selection of minis. Figure I'd cover the bases. We can always customize some later.” 

“Cool,” Bucky grinned. He'd seen some of Bruce's miniature collection last week. Maybe they should get some. Steve would probably enjoy painting them. 

Sam meanwhile was setting up behind a folding cardboard screen, while Thor poured out a handful of the most beautiful dice Bucky'd ever seen. They looked like emeralds. Hell, it was Thor. They probably _were_ emeralds. 

“Excuse me, Master Samwise,” Friday said. “Boss says he can't make it. Something's come up. But he said you're free to run his character for him if you want.” 

Bucky glanced at Steve. You could do that? Let someone else play your character? That didn't seem right. What if they did something stupid with them? He gripped the side of his character sheet tighter. He would never put Cellinor in someone else's hands. 

“I think we're all going to be busy figuring out our own characters,” Bruce said. “Let alone try and figure out what Tony wants.” 

Sam frowned. “Yeah, I think we'll just leave-” He checked his notes - “Lorelei at home. I'll think of a way to bring her into the group later.” 

“OK, are we ready?” Sam clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “Let's play.” 

“So, when you rolled up your characters I told you to think of _why_ your character wanted to be an adventurer. Whatever that reason, it's lead you here – to the city of Ironforge, to enter the Annual Adventurer's Guild tournament. The winners not only receive prizes of armor, gold, and spells, but you also get a one year paid membership in the Guild.” 

Sam paused to hand each of them a small piece of paper with a stylized picture of a red falcon. 

“Since you came here without a group, you've been assigned to one.” 

“Really Sam?” Bucky rolled his eyes. “A falcon? How original.” 

“Wait, so we don't accidentally meet in a tavern?” Steve said. “I thought that was traditional.” 

“Yes, it's a falcon, got to get my branding on this somehow. And no, you're _not_ meeting in some lame ass tavern. Now hush - The DM is talking...” 

~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor wrinkled his nose, the unfamiliar smells making him want to sneeze. So many people! Mostly humans of course, but a fair sampling of dwarves, hobbits, and the occasional half-orc or gnome. He stepped back, letting a pack of pixies fly by, and squinted at the paper he'd pulled from the box. A red falcon on a white background. 

He looked over the crowd, his height an advantage, until he found the matching banner. He carefully made his way over. 

A dwarf and half-orc were already there. The Dwarf was dressed in black, a long-staff held by his side. The half-orc was tall, taller even than Cellinor, his pale green face ruggedly handsome. He was unarmored and seemingly unarmed. 

The half-orc looked up at his approach. “Red Falcon?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Cellinor nodded, showing him the assignment page. 

“Us too!” the half-orc stuck out his hand. “I'm Grumble McKenzie. Nice to meet you.” 

“Cellinor Therón,” he ignored Grumble's hand and gave a bow. He turned to the Dwarf. “And you, sir?” he asked in his best Dwarfish. 

“Jerry, you can call me Jerry,” the dwarf replied in the Common tongue. Cellinor narrowed his eyes. That was odd. Normally one of the Dwarven folk would have given their lineage and clan. Perhaps he was in exile? 

“Friends!” a voice boomed, and Cellinor spun, hand dropping to his dagger, forgetting for a moment that it was bound by a peace-knot. 

Coming toward them was one of the dragonborn, seven feet tall if she were an inch, her scales a pale bluish-grey, bright gold highlights gleaming even in the gloomy morning light. The crowd parted like water in front of her, and it took Cellinor a moment to notice the gnome trailing in her wake. 

“Well-met, fellow Red Falcons!” The dragonborn boomed. “I am Þórfríðr, Paladin of Bahamut. And this,” she made sweeping gesture toward the gnome, “Is my husband, Jeddleblock Fluffynoodle.” 

“Ah,” the gnome stepped forward. “There's actually a lot more to my name, but you can just call me Jed.” He ran a hand through his curls, blushing slightly. 

“Husband? How does _that_ work?” Cellinor heard the dwarf (or maybe it was just Nat) mutter. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Wait, wait, what-” Steve interrupted. “Characters can be married in the game?” 

“Well, they can if you ask nicely,” Sam peered over the screen. “Bruce and Thor asked me before we started playing.” 

“Indeed,” Thor smiled, throwing his arm over Bruce's shoulder. “We thought it would be fun.” Bruce shrugged, the tips of his ears turning pink. 

“I wish you'd said that before,” Steve shuffled his papers around. “In that case, I want to be married to-” 

“No,” Bucky stopped him. “NO way.” 

“Wha-” Steve's eyes snapped to Bucky's. “But Bucky-” 

“I'm sorry,” Bucky shrugged. “You don't fit with my backstory.” 

“Your...backstory,” Steve's eyes narrowed. 

“Mmmm,” Bucky tipped his chin up. “Your character may not know it yet, but _I_ am a Prince. A Prince of the woodland realm! You're what - a scruffy half-orc thief? If you want to marry me, you could at least, I don't know... court me or something. Show me you're worthy.” 

“Oh, I'll show you worthy,” Steve muttered. “Fine. So we're _not_ married.” 

“Can we get back to the game?” Sam sighed. “Please?” 

“OK, but I think we should go talk in the _tavern_ ,” Steve said. “Get to know each other before our group is called.” 

“Fine by me,” Nat shrugged. 

“Lead on, Steve, I mean Grumble!” Thor said. 

~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor tucked his chin, pulling his hood higher, trying his best to avoid the cold, spring rain. Thankfully his elven-made cloak was keeping the rest of him warm and dry. He followed the footsteps of the Dwarf in front of him, absently listening to Grumble complain as he slogged ahead in the lead. It didn't sound as if _his_ cloak was keeping him warm or dry. Cellinor hummed and snuggled his shoulders tighter. _Sucks to be Grumble._

Soon the light started to fade, the clouds getting thicker, the rain pelting down harder. A spray of mud came off of the dwarf's (Jerry, his name is Jerry) ginormous boots with every stride, and Cellinor dropped back even further. Gradually the path became firmer, the ground underfoot cushioned by thick layers of leaves. The rain slowed to a patter, dripping from the leafy branches arching over their heads. 

Wait... Leaves? Trees? 

Cellinor blinked, looking around. They were fair surrounded by trees - elm and beech, maple and oak. 

What happened to the road? 

“Um,” Cellinor said cautiously. “Ah, Grumble?” 

“I don't think he can hear you,” Jerry said brightly. “HEY GRUMBLE!!” Jerry shouted. “THE ELF WANTS YOU!” 

“Thanks,” Cellinor deadpanned. 

The whole group came to a stop. The bard produced a handkerchief and began wiping mud from his face. 

The half-orc turned around and stomped back toward Cellinor. “Yeah? Do you need a rest break? Cause there's nothing around here and nowhere to sit-” 

“Exactly,” Cellinor waving a hand. “There's nothing here.” 

“That's what I said,” Grumble huffed. “There's no-” 

“By Marthammor's Balls!” the Dwarf interjected. “You've lost the road!” 

“Well, that's unfortunate,” the gnome sighed. 

“Lost the road?” the paladin asked, striding up behind Cellinor. Her head brushed the branches above them, showering everyone in even more water. “Were we not supposed to head cross-country?” 

“No!” Jerry spit off to the side. “The instructions were to follow the road until we found the next clue. The one that would take us to tonight's camp.” 

“If we don't make it to the camp by nightfall, we'll be disqualified,” the gnome said. 

“No shit,” the half-orc grumbled. “OK, well, let's retrace our footsteps then. How far can it be?” 

Cellinor closed his eyes, thinking back. He'd fallen into a kind of doze, marching along, but he was pretty sure the road was further than Grumble thought. They didn't have time for this. 

“Son, just how did you lose a whole road? It – was – a – ROAD.” The dwarf said again. 

“I don't know! OK?” The orc tossed his arms, throwing water on everyone. “I grew up in the city! I didn't know the trees could just sneak up on you like that!” 

“You don't have any woods training?” Jed slumped in his cloak. “Then why did you put yourself in front?” 

“No one else said anything,” Grumble growled. 

“Now, friends,” The paladin stepped forward. “Let us not fight. I'm sure we can figure our way past this. After all, this might be part of the challenge. Perhaps a glamor was cast, making us lose the road on purpose. To test us.” 

“I did say the test seemed too easy,” the gnome said. “You're probably right Þórfríðr.” 

The dragonborn smiled, showing rows of dangerous looking teeth. “Thank you, Jed! You were quite clever, too, sweetheart. We all should have been more wary!” 

“So we go back?” the half-orc looked around the group. 

“I can find the road,” Cellinor volunteered. “Or if you want, I could find the camp instead?” 

“You could?” “You can!?” 

~ ~ ~ 

“Um, yeah,” Bucky picked up his sheet and squinted at the numbers. “I've got +60 to my woodcraft? And my night vision is like, + 100? Even though it's not full night yet, that should help, right?” 

“Yeah, it will,” Sam said, calmly. “Anything else? How are you going to find the camp?” 

“I can talk to animals? If I cast a spell, I could ask a bird where the camp is?” Bucky said quickly. 

“Or a squirrel,” Natasha sat forward, pulling the bag of cheesy chips closer. “I bet squirrels know everything that's going on.” 

“That's what Doreen's always saying,” Steve shrugged. “But why didn't you say anything before we started?” 

Bucky shrugged. “You took charge, seemed to know what you were doing. My elf doesn't know you well enough to know you didn't.” 

“Yes!” Sam grinned, making a note behind the screen. “Extra experience points for good role-playing.” 

“Marthammor's Balls?” Bruce cocked an eyebrow. “Really?” 

“It seemed appropriate,” Nat mumbled around a mouthful of chips. 

“Who's Math-hammer?” Thor asked, draining the last of a 2 liter Mountain Dew. He threw the bottle over his shoulder. 

“Marthammor is a Dwarven god,” Friday helpfully supplied. “Also called The Wanderer, The Finder of Trails, the Watcher over Wanderers, and the Watchful Eye.” 

“Appropriate,” Thor nodded. “Is he your patron deity?” 

“Haven't decided yet,” Nat shrugged. 

Bucky smiled at Steve and Steve knocked his ankle under the table. 

Maybe this would be even more fun than he'd thought. 

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  


Steve woke up at the first soft beep of his alarm, silencing it as fast as he could. He held his breath, but Bucky only rolled over, pulling the blanket tighter under his chin. Steve couldn't help smiling – even with drool on his face and his hair a tangled mess, Bucky Barnes was still the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. 

Steve stole one more quick look before carefully edging out of the bed, moving as quietly as possible to get dressed in the bathroom. Bucky slept badly at the best of times and Steve _really_ didn't want to wake him. If they were lucky, Bucky would sleep until he had to get up for his class at Cornell Tech. 

A quick trip to the hanger bay and he was on his way upstate. He settled back in his seat, happy to let Friday fly the quinjet for him. 

Last night's D&D game had been more fun than he'd thought it would be. Sure, there'd been a few bumps, but they'd solved all the puzzles Sam had thrown at them. Of course, they still needed to improve their teamwork - even if the team was imaginary. 

He'd guessed Bucky's character was going to be an elf, but everyone else's had been a surprise. Then again... Bruce had picked someone small and clever. Nat was a wizard, which made sense – he was pretty sure half the things she did were magic. 

Thor was obviously playing himself, but as a lady dragon-person. After the game Friday had told him Þórfríðr meant 'Beautiful Thor' and her hammer – Molter, meant cloudberries. How had Thor pronounced the paladin's name? THOR-frith-ur? Yeah, that was it. THOR-frith-ur. He was definitely going have to practice that before the next game. 

At least Jed and Jerry were easy. 

~ ~ ~ 

“OK, that was better,” Steve tried not to wince as he levered himself off the mats. “Maybe a little _less_ force this time? I think you might be overcompensating.” 

“Probably,” Wanda sighed. “It is so much harder to control while you hold the shield.” 

“Yeah,” Steve gave the shield a gentle tap, making it ring. “Vibranium.” 

“Not just for stopping bullets,” Wanda grinned, bending to grab her water bottle. 

“Ready to try again?” Steve asked, tapping the control to reset the course. 

“Can we rest a few minutes?” 

“I guess I can go easy on you,” Steve smiled, shaking his head sadly. “Since it's Monday.” 

“You look just as tired as I am,” Wanda laughed, dropping gracefully to sit on the mat. “Did you have a late night?” 

“Sort of,” Steve sat down next to her, “we spent a couple of hours after the game just talking about it. Bucky really got a kick out of it.” 

“And you?” 

“It was fun,” Steve said slowly. “Different then I thought it would be.” 

“Oh? How so?” 

“Well, for one, there was a lot of tactical planning and puzzle solving.” 

“Imagine that,” Wanda laughed. “You liking a game that needs strategy.” 

“You know, you could still roll up a character,” Steve offered. “Not too late to join the party.” 

“Eh,” Wanda shrugged. “I don't think it is for me. But you should ask Vision. It might help him with his human interactions. Something he is still unsure of.” 

“Vision?” Steve frowned. “Really? Huh. Well, I'll tell Sam he's interested.” 

“So what are you? In the game?” Wanda asked. “A mighty fighter? Sir Steve, the Dragon-slayer?” 

“No,” Steve grinned. “I decided to play a half-orc rogue.” Then he remembered. He was _just_ a thief. And Bucky was a high-born elf. 

“Steve?” Wanda asked as the smile dropped off his face. 

“So, ah,” Steve rubbed the back of his head. “Hypothetically, if someone wanted to court you, what would they have to do?” 

“Uhm,” Wanda arched an eyebrow. “What?” 

“Not you, _you_ ,” Steve quickly waved his hand. “I want to court Bucky. Well, not Bucky. Bucky's elf. The elf Bucky's playing. I mean my thief wants to impress-” 

“Ah,” Wanda looked relieved. “You want to court Bucky's character as part of the _game._ ” 

“Yes,” Steve sighed. “That.” 

“Well,” Wanda looked thoughtful. “How did you court Bucky before? When you were young?” 

“Hey,” Steve said absently. “We're not _old_.” 

How did he woo Bucky before? The answer was he hadn't. They'd moved from friends - to friends who fooled around - to lovers in pretty short order. There hadn't been anything like dating; no flowers, no candlelit dinners, no pretty poetry. And kissing in back alleys sure as hell didn't count as _romance._

Shit, was that why Bucky wanted Grumble to court Cellinor? Did _Bucky_ wish they'd courted in real life? Did he think Steve could be doing more _now_? 

“Should we get back to work?” Wanda stood up, stretching. 

“Yeah,” Steve jumped to his feet, a plan already taking shape. “But I think I need to end our session early. I have to get to the game shop before they close.” 

~ ~ ~ 

Bucky slid through the kitchen in his sock feet, aiming for the pantry. Shit. He’d almost forgotten the snacks! Sam had insisted crappy snack food and soda were traditional at D&D games, and who was he to argue? 

Bucky flung the door open and started rummaging through the shelves, trying to find something besides canned spaghetti, protein drinks, and granola bars. He'd thought – ah there it was. A 12-can pack of jalapeño Pringles. Perfect. 

He stuffed everything in a bag, making sure Cellinor was safe on top, before jamming his feet into his shoes. 

It was finally time for the group's first _real_ adventure. Not that the introductory game hadn't been fun, but it had felt a little forced. Today was sure to be better. 

Friday already had the elevator door open for him and he grinned up at her camera. 

“Ready for another game?” Bucky asked to the lens. 

“Of course, Captain Bucky,” Friday said. “The weather today in Ironforge is sunny and mild. Hopefully, you'll all be able to stay on the road this time!” 

Bucky winced. Yeah, that hadn't been their finest moment. 

The door to Sam's place was open and Sam was already sitting in his spot, setting up his screen. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, dropping into his chair. 

“'Sup,” Sam nodded. “Where's Steve?” 

“Running late,” Bucky shrugged. 

“Oh, right,” Sam said. “Wednesday.” 

Bucky nodded. Wednesday was team combat day at the compound. Trying to get all the new guys working together was a pain in the ass. Kate and Kamala were great, Wanda and Vision were spooky, and Scott was just plain over-eager. But Pietro? One of these days, Bucky was going to kick his speedy little pain-in-the-ass. 

“Are you – Are you wearing _elf ears?_ ” Sam leaned over for a better look. 

“Yep,” Bucky grinned, brushing his hair back. “Steve got them for me. And look!” He spilled his dice bag on the table. “He got me these, too.” Bucky picked out a set of sparkly green dice and pushed them toward Sam. 

“Nice,” Sam nodded. “The dice, I mean. Those ears make you look like a sad-trash Vulcan hobo.” 

Bucky lifted his hand in the Vulcan salute, then changed it to just his middle finger. 

“Excuse me, Master Samwise?” Friday chimed in. “But Boss says he can't play tonight, either. He says you can run his character for him - just keep a list of the treasure Lorelei gets.” 

“Hell, no,” Sam snorted. “Blowing us off twice in a row? Tell him no play, no pay.” 

“Hello?” Steve called, coming around the corner, five pizza boxes stacked in his hands. “Did I miss anything?” 

“No - because I know they didn't start without us,” Nat's voice came from behind Steve. Bruce and Thor were right behind her. 

“Sorry we're late,” Bruce shrugged. 

“Yeah,” Sam said. “I know weeknights are hard, but we need to get Bucky here his 60 hours. Get him back on the roster.” 

As soon as everyone was settled with pizza and chips, Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“So, when last we played y'all had just won the Adventuring Guild's annual contest-” 

“Wait,” Bucky stopped him. “Hang on a second, I gotta go to the bathroom.” 

“Man, why didn't you go before we started?” Sam groaned. 

“I didn't have to go before we started!” Bucky yelled back over his shoulder as he jogged toward the bathroom. 

  
  


~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor took a deep breath of the summer air, glad they'd left the city behind them. It might not be the deep woods of home, but the open flower-filled meadow had a charm all it's own. He watched a fat bumblebee buzz past and grinned. 

This time _he_ was leading the group, the others strung out on the path behind him. He turned his head, making sure they were keeping up. 

“Everything alright?” Jerry asked, squinting against the noontime sun. 

“Yes,” Cellinor nodded, eyes stopping for a moment on the badge sewn on Jerry's jerkin. The same one he now wore on his vest. It showed a crossed sword and wand, over a key - the sign of the Adventurer's Guild. For now, the background was bright green, but someday, someday, he hoped it would be gold. Assuming they all lived that long. 

“We're almost to the crossroad,” Jerry huffed. 

Cellinor nodded. It looked like the shortcut had paid off. He would owe a thanks to the Guildhall's stable girl when next they met. 

“We should stop for lunch,” Jerry said. “Before we hit the main road.” 

“Are you hungry already?” Cellinor turned around. “We ate this morning.” 

“We're not all _elves_ ,” Jerry snorted. “Some of us like to eat more than once a day.” 

“Oh,” Cellinor nodded. Right. The dragonborn could probably eat five times a day and still be hungry. 

“LUNCH BREAK!” Jerry yelled. 

“You know, it's probably not a good idea to be shouting all the time,” Jed said, coming to a stop. “You're going to attract trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” Jerry snorted, already shouldering out of his pack. “We're only a half day from town. What could be out here?” 

“Please don't jinx us,” Jed sighed. 

Cellinor moved toward the side of the path, where the grass was shorter. He cast a quick spell to keep the ticks and ants away. 

“Lunch time?” Þórfríðr asked, swinging her war hammer off her shoulder. “Thanks be. I am starving.” 

“Where's Grumble?” Cellinor looked around, and Þórfríðr pointed off into the field. Ah, OK. Cellinor nodded. He just hoped half-orcs washed their hands before eating. 

Jerry had already flopped down, rummaging in his pack for the lunch they'd all packed. Cellinor joined him, not looking forward to more of the human's idea of bread. 

“I still think we should have chosen to hunt the bandits near Dogsford,” Þórfríðr said, already tearing into her food. 

“It was a Yellow or better level job,” Jed shook his head. “There's no way they'd let us take it.” 

“This Guild has a strange way of assigning jobs,” Þórfríðr shrugged, the gold of her scales flashing in the sun. “They label us Green, but they have not seen us in action!” 

Cellinor took a drink of water, rather than point out that _they_ hadn't seen their group in action either. Taking a nice easy courier job for their first time out seemed wise. 

“The Guild has to pay our funeral costs if we die on duty,” Jerry said sagely. “So they like to keep us alive.” 

Cellinor watched Grumble wander out of the tall grass, one hand held behind his back. With his blond hair and green skin, he looked like a walking sunflower. 

Grumble sat down next to Cellinor, his face earnest. 

“Uhm,” Grumble stopped and cleared his throat. He pulled his hand from behind his back. “I got you these?” 

Cellinor narrowed his eyes at the messy fistful of wildflowers. 

Really? This was Grumble's idea of courting? Grabbing a random chunk of the verge? 

He took a deep breath, letting his bottom lip wobble. 

“Oh, gods,” Cellinor whispered. “You killed them!” 

He snatched the flowers from Grumble clutching them to his face. “OH, my poor babies! What has the brute done to you?!” 

“Uh, what?” Grumble froze, mouth dropping open in shock. 

“Murdered in their prime... Now they'll never set seeds,” Cellinor said mournfully. He tried to will a tear to his eye but failed. (Stupid dice.) 

“You-,” Grumble narrowed his eyes. “You're fucking with me, aren't you.” 

“AH, HA-HA-HA,” Jerry wheezed, face turning red. “Of course he's fucking with you! That is some of the worst acting I've ever seen!” 

“I've seen worse,” Jed smiled. “Hell, I've done worse.” 

The Paladin started laughing, a strange, roaring chortle. 

Cellinor tossed the flowers aside. But not before tucking a daisy behind his ear. 

~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor dropped his hand to his sword and raised his hand. 

Behind him, Jed stopped singing and Cellinor listened again. There it was. From up ahead the alarm call of a flock of jays. He could hear what they were saying - Intruders in the woods. 

It might be nothing. It was probably nothing. 

He let his senses drift through the trees, and felt – something. 

He sighed. And it had all been going so well. Two more days travel would have seen them to the end of their journey. 

“Cellinor?” Grumble had drifted up alongside him, moving so soft-footed that even Cellinor's elven sense had not noticed. He was impressed. 

“There is an ambush ahead,” Cellinor nodded. “Just around the bend.” 

Grumble frowned, peering down the road. “Are you sure?” 

“Pretty sure,” Cellinor deadpanned. (Steve might have missed his saving throw, but he sure as hell hadn't.) 

“So what's the plan?” Grumble whispered. 

Þórfríðr tapped her hammer against a clawed hand. “Let us see who would try and rob us!” She threw her head back and roared, charging down the lane. 

“The plan is... Charge!” Jerry went lumbering after Þórfríðr, staff held high. 

“FUCK,” Steve (that was definitely Steve) swore, as they all chased after them. 

Around the bend, they found the Paladin and the Dwarf facing off against four humans, obviously bandits. Cellinor knew there were two more in the trees. 

“Surrender, miscreants!” Þórfríðr boomed, swinging her hammer over her head. “Or feel the wrath of Molter!” 

Jerry raised his staff, muttering words of Power, and two of the bandits fell down unconscious. 

The other two bandits charged, swords drawn and Þórfríðr met them hammer swinging. Grumble, dagger in hand, circled, looking for an opening to join the fray. 

“Get them, Honey!” Jed cheered from the sidelines. “Smash them!” 

An arrow flew from the trees, bouncing off Þórfríðr's armor, and another just missed Jerry. 

Cellinor rushed into the woods, where a pair of archers were drawing down on his friends. 

He called on the trees, and the trees responded. Thick roots rose up, branches reached down and the two men were bound fast. 

Behind him the sounds of battle stopped. 

Ignoring the bandits cursing, Cellinor made sure they were secure before he moved back to the road. 

It looked like Þórfríðr and Grumble had killed their opponents. Jerry and Jed were busy disarming the two that Jerry had spelled asleep. 

Cellinor breathed a sigh of relief. That could have gone better. But it could have been a lot- 

“Fuck me sideways and call me a bugbear!” Jerry shouted, dropping the bandit's short sword as if it had burned him. 

“What? What happened?” Jed rushed over, dagger still in his fist. 

“It's the sword...” Jerry pushed it with his toe. 

“Did it harm you?” Þórfríðr asked, hammer raised to strike. 

“No,” Jerry shook his head. “It said its name is Tim.” 

“ _Tim?”_ Cellinor frowned. What kind of sword was named _Tim_ ? 

Jerry reached down to pick up the sword again. 

“Are you crazy?” Grumble snapped. “Don't touch it!” 

“No,” Jerry said slowly. “I think I want it.” 

“You what-” “Oh, no-” “Wait-” 

~ ~ ~ 

“Wait, wait,” Bruce said. “Doesn't she get a saving throw? If the sword is making her pick it up?” 

“No,” Sam shook his head. “Sword isn't doing anything. Just sitting in the dirt.” 

“I'm picking it up,” Nat repeated. 

Sam scribbled something and folded the note before handing it to Nat. 

She read it quickly and nodded. 

“Well?” Steve asked. “What happened?” 

“Nothing,” Nat shrugged. “Jerry just swings the sword a bit, then buckles it on.” 

“Maybe we should-” Bucky started. 

“How do we know it's not evil?” Steve interrupted. 

“ _Tim_ says he's not,” Nat shrugged. “Plus it's a magic sword. That means I can cast spells while holding it.” 

“Can anyone detect evil?” Steve looked around the table. 

Everyone raised their hand. 

“So why didn't anyone do that before Nat, I mean Jerry, picked it up?” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I will cast it now,” Thor said. “Do I need to roll the dice?” He started shaking the dice in his fist. 

“No,” Sam said. “It's automatic for you. The Sword doesn't detect as evil.” 

“See,” Thor beamed. “It is not evil.” 

“I still don't like it,” Steve grumbled. 

“Don't worry,” Nat patted Steve's arm. “I'll let you know if Tim starts telling me to murder you in your sleep.” 

“By murdering us all in our sleep?” Bucky asked. 

“Probably,” Nat grinned, spinning her troll doll. 

“Sam,” Steve called. “Grumble is going to keep an eye on Jerry for a while.” 

“Got it,” Sam said, sliding another piece of paper across to Nat. “So, shall we keep going?” 

“Yeah, we'd better get moving,” Nat said, reading the note. “Tim says he's hungry.” 

  



	5. Chapter 5

  


“ETA 10 minutes, Captain Steve,” Friday said, soundly only slightly worried. 

Steve didn't blame her. The way he'd been running around all afternoon was enough to scare anyone. 

OK, the flowers were in place, vases scattered throughout the apartment. The table was set with everything he'd borrowed from Pepper. Friday had even helpfully corrected his silverware placement. 

So what did that leave? Tablecloth, fine china, fancy forks – check. Enough flowers to choke a steer - check. The lasagna was in the oven, the salad was in the fridge and the Bucky's favorite peanut butter cup cheesecake was on the counter. 

He carefully lit the tall candles on the table, making sure to slip the lighter into his pocket afterward. He'd need it later for all the candles in the bedroom and bathroom. 

“Friday, start the playlist, please,” Steve took a step back and nodded. Everything looked perfect. 

“You got it,” Friday said, soft music starting in the background. “And five-minute warning.” 

“How does Bucky look?” 

“I think he always looks nice,” Friday said. “But his hair is especially pretty today-” 

“No, I mean does he look happy? Or upset?” Steve wasn't worried. He wasn't. Bucky was sure to have aced his last final. He'd been studying all week for it. 

“I often find it hard to guess Captain Bucky or Original Hawkeye's moods,” Friday said thoughtfully. “But in this case, I would say happy.” 

Steve relaxed just a little bit. Well, if Bucky had done poorly this would be a consolation dinner – a nice, romantic, consolation dinner. 

His eyes fell on the box of rose petals he'd left on the counter. Shit. He'd meant to scatter them on the floor, to lead Bucky to the kitchen. 

But maybe he should put some around the cheesecake? That would look nice, wouldn't it? 

He dropped a ring of petals around the plate, and then quickly backed up, raining petals down on the floor. He'd have Friday dim the lights, and then he'd wait in the kitchen. Bucky was going to be so surprised- 

Steve froze at the sound of the door opening behind him. 

“What – the – fucking – fuck?” 

Oops. 

“Surprise?” Steve spun around, accidentally throwing the rest of the petals into the air. 

Bucky stepped in, letting the door close behind him, eyes tracking around the room as if looking for enemy combatants. 

“What did you do this time?” Bucky shook his head, looking resigned. 

“Um?” Steve frowned, tossing the empty box aside. What did he – what? 

“Let me guess - jumping without a parachute? Punching a T-rex in the face?” Bucky ran his hands down Steve's arms, then across his shoulders, peering at his chest. “You didn't get _shot,_ did you?” 

“No!” Steve huffed, stepping away from Bucky's searching fingers. “Of course not!” 

“Then why does our living room look like a florist shop?” Bucky frowned. “And why do I smell garlic bread?” 

Steve sighed. This was not going to plan at all. 

“Oh shit,” Bucky's eyes went wide. “Is it me? Are they rescinding my pardon? Is Hydra-” 

“No, Bucky,” Steve said quickly. “No. It's nothing like that.” 

“Well, it's obviously _something,_ ” Bucky shrugged, turning to hang up his backpack and toe off his shoes. 

“Maybe I was just trying to be romantic,” Steve huffed. “Can't a guy do something romantic for his fella every now and then?” 

“I guess? I mean, if-” He took two steps and stopped, grimacing at the smashed petals stuck to his socks. “Since when is this your idea of romance?” 

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. All those romcom's he'd watched had made this look so easy... 

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky crowded in, pulling him into a hug. “Hey. Talk to me. What's this really about?” 

Steve let his head fall on Bucky's shoulder, hoping the metal would cool his face. He must be red all the way to his toes. 

“It was the game,” Steve said, lifting his head. 

“The D&D game?” Bucky reached up and picked a rose petal from Steve's hair. 

“Yeah – you know, the whole courting thing? I realized we'd never done that. Courting. Romance. So I thought maybe Cellinor was your way of letting me know you wanted more-” 

“Stevie, come on. How could I want more? I've got _everything_ I need right here.” Bucky tightened his arms, squeezing so hard he rocked up on his toes. 

“Me too, Buck. Me too,” Steve sighed, kissing along the side of Bucky's jaw. 

“Wait, wait,” Bucky leaned back a bit. “These last couple of weeks. Was that you trying to court me? With all those gifts?” 

“I thought you realized when I gave you the diamond earrings,” Steve grinned. “I mean, the “thank you” was pretty spectacular...” 

“What can I say?” Bucky tipped his head, kissing Steve firmly. “They make me feel like a sexy, sexy pirate.” He caught Steve in another kiss, then another. “Maybe I should go put them on? And change into something nicer for dinner. Since you've gone to all this trouble. Who knows? Maybe I'll like it as much as what we usually do.” 

“What we usually do?” Steve mumbled against Bucky's throat. 

“Yeah, you know,” Bucky shrugged. “How we normally say “I love you”? Like the time you blew up that Hydra lab for me.” 

“Ah,” Steve smiled, kissing Bucky's ear. “Or the time you beat the shit out of Doom for calling me an “anachronistic jingoistic relic of a bygone era?”” 

“Yeah, that,” Bucky grinned. “This might be good, too. Less punching. More eating.” 

“Don't forget the bubble bath for two,” Steve slid his hand down Bucky's arm. “And a massage afterward.” 

“Fuck,” Bucky sucked in a breath. “Why didn't you lead with that?” He grabbed Steve's hand, dragging him toward the bedroom. 

Steve dug in his heels, laughing. “Uh-uh, dinner first Barnes; before we catch Pepper's tablecloth on fire.” 

~ ~ ~ 

Bucky sighed, shifting his head more firmly on to Steve's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. The sound he loved most in the world. 

Steve's fingers were sifting absently through his hair. 

“We should get up and change the sheets,” Steve mumbled sleepily. 

“Tomorrow,” Bucky muttered. “We'll do it tomorrow.” Steve was right. They'd really wrecked the bed. But he felt too good to move. 

Steve grunted in agreement. 

“You know,” Bucky opened an eye and peered up at Steve. “If you wanted to try some more of this romance stuff, I've got a few ideas.” 

“Hmm?” Steve's fingers drifted down to rub the muscles around Bucky's shoulder, where they were always knotted. 

“Yeah,” Bucky stifled a grin. “You could pick up your damn stinky socks once in a while. Or maybe stop leaving dirty dishes in the sink?” 

“Ha, ha,” Steve's fingers drifted lower, scritching over Bucky's back. 

“Oh! Maybe stop spattering paint around the sink when you wash your brushes-” 

Steve's fingers tensed along his ribs, threatening to tickle. 

“Or not,” Bucky said quickly, snuggling in tighter. “Tyë melinyë, punk.” 

“Dova dra... jerk,” Steve muttered in Orcish, already sliding into sleep. 

~ ~ ~ 

Bucky was in the middle of brushing his teeth when the hunting horn sounded. _Finally._ He rinsed and spit, barely drying his hands before grabbing his tablet. 

“Is that Friday's rumor list?” Steve asked, peering around the glass wall of the shower. 

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbled, scanning quickly down the page. He set the tablet aside and joined Steve, the second and third shower heads coming on automatically. 

“Anything new?” Steve asked, grabbing Bucky's shampoo. Bucky turned around and let Steve dig his fingers in, sighing. God, he loved the future. 

“Buck?” 

“Oh,” Bucky shook himself, tipping his head to rinse. “Three more rumors of bandits to the south. And something about horses disappearing near the Mourning Mountains?” 

“Might be griffons,” Steve handed Bucky the pouf and turned around so Bucky could get his back. “They eat horses, right?” 

“Or bandits _stealing_ horses,” Bucky bit his lip, watching the play of suds down Steve's back. Even after all these years, it was still a marvel. 

“I'll check my rumor page. Maybe its got more detail,” Steve groaned as Bucky's hands soaped lower, then lower still. 

Fuck it. The game wasn't for an hour. Bucky threw the pouf away and sank to his knees. 

~ ~ ~ 

Sam dropped his notes and dice on the table, trying to get into game mode. This would be his first official module and he'd been up late, reading it for the tenth time. 

“Hey, Friday?” Sam called. “Any chance of a Stark sighting today?” 

There was a long pause before Friday came back on the line. 

“I'm sorry, Master Samwise,” Friday's voice was neutral. “But the Boss says to tell you that he's had a better offer and no longer wishes to play. He says you can use Lorelei as an NPC if you'd like. He has another copy.” 

“Whatever,” Sam muttered. Better offer. More like Pepper dragging Stark's ass out of the lab for the day. 

“Knock, knock,” Bruce called, letting himself in, Thor right behind him as usual. 

“Hey,” Sam nodded, setting up two screens. One to hide the module, one for his dice. 

“Take a look at these,” Bruce said, handing over the custom miniatures Friday had made of Jed and Þórfríðr. 

“Wow,” Sam said, making sure to handle them by the base. “These look amazing.” 

“Thor painted them,” Bruce said proudly. 

“Great job, Thor,” Sam carefully set them next to the Battlemat. 

“Thank you,” Thor smiled. “Bruce had some very helpful tips. It was a challenge working with such tiny brushes.” 

“Hi-Ho,” Nat called, tossing a box of Little Debbie Nutty Buddy's on the table. 

“Ooh,” Bruce groaned, reaching for the box. “I used to love these as a kid. I haven't had them _years._ ” 

“Help yourself.” Nat nodded at the empty chairs. “Where's the dynamic duo?” 

Sam looked up and frowned. Steve and Bucky were _always_ first to arrive. 

“Friday?” Sam called. 

“Ah, well,” Friday hedged. “They appear to be delayed.” 

“Delayed,” Nat crunched into a Nutty Buddy, “or _Delayed_.” 

“Don't answer that,” Sam rolled his eyes. He did not want to know. 

“Should we start without them?” Bruce asked. 

“Steve says please don't,” Friday relayed. “They are on their way now.” 

Sure enough, five minutes later they slid into their seats, looking fresh out of the shower. Bucky hadn't even bothered to dry his hair. They were both working real hard not to make eye contact. 

Really? Getting busy on game day? Sam tisked loud enough for super soldier ears to hear. 

“So, ah,” Steve fumbled with his dice bag. “Anyone else hear about the increase in bandits?” 

“Aye,” Thor picked this tablet. “It seems they have become quite the problem on the Long Road.” 

“I think there might be a pattern to the attacks,” Bruce said. “I was trying to map them out earlier.” 

“I compared Bucky's rumor sheet to mine-” Steve started. 

“Is _that_ what we're calling it?” Nat whispered, and Bucky choked on the Coke he'd been drinking. 

Steve didn't even bother rolling his eyes. “I think there's definitely a pattern.” 

“You think someone is organizing them?” Thor asked. 

“Maybe,” Steve nodded. “I think we should check it out. Head south, talk to witnesses.” 

“Uhm,” Sam narrowed his eyes. “I thought y'all were going to Saltmarsh? The mission you picked off the Guildhall job-board?” 

Steve shook his head. “That job was to clean out an old Wizard's layer? Right? The Guild has it cordoned off for now. I think the bandits are a clear and present danger.” 

“Me, too,” Bucky frowned, shaking the empty Little Debbies box. “There's gotta be a lot more attacks than the ones we hear about as random rumors.” 

“Should we vote?” Bruce asked. “All in favor of going south?” 

Everyone raised their hand. 

“South it is,” Steve grinned. 

“You can't be serious,” Sam thumped his head on the table. “You want to go hunt bandits? After I spent 2 weeks prepping this module?! I've practically got the damn thing memorized. I rolled out every-damn-thing's hit points and treasure!” 

“See!” Bruce pointed at him. “This is why I didn't want to DM. If it were me, I'd be running for the Hulk Room.” 

“Should we not hunt bandits, then?” Thor asked. 

“No,” Sam straightened up. “I told you, I like to give my groups as much free-will as possible. I just can't believe you'd-. I mean, all that work-.” He slammed the module closed. “I'm just grateful we've only got 20 more hours of this shit to go.” 

“Don't lie,” Bucky grinned, slipping on his elf ears. “You love this.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said. “Friday? Roll me up some new encounters for the road. And you-” He pointed around the table. “Just remember, this isn't a Guild sanctioned job. It might be too tough for you. Remember there's no shame in running away... Steve.” 

“It's just bandits,” Thor waved his hand. “How hard can they be? Are we not 3rd level now?” 

~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor listened to Þórfríðr's ringing words and glanced at his badge. It was true that the background was changing from green to blue. In fact, Grumble's had changed to true blue a few weeks ago. 

Perhaps they _were_ ready strike to out on their own. It was only bandits after all. 

“Tim thinks we can do it,” Jerry said. “And I've got a few scrolls if we get in trouble.” 

Grumble rolled his eyes. Everyone knew his feelings about the talking sword. 

“I've got my new harp!” Jed plucked a few strings, the sound so much sweeter than his old wooden one. “And I've packed a few potions.” 

“I know we can do this,” Grumble nodded. “And if we get in over our heads we'll head back, let the Guild know what we've found.” 

“AYE!” Þórfríðr roared, making the other tavern patrons flinch. “They shall feel Molter's wrath!” 

“Cellinor?” Grumble asked, worrying his lip with one of his tusks. “What do you say? We won't do this if you-” 

“No,” Cellinor shook his head. “I agree. We should do this. The other job can wait. But it would be faster if we got some horses.” 

“Nay!” Jerry said. “Nay I say.” He doubled over laughing at his own joke. (And so did Nat.) 

“Horses _would_ be faster,” Jed nodded. “Or, well, a pony in my case.” 

“Can you, ah, ride?” Grumble turned to Þórfríðr. Cellinor hid his laugh in a cough. The image of the dragonborn on a horse was just too funny. 

“Aye,” Þórfríðr nodded, “if the beast is sturdy enough and not prone to spooking.” 

“Not sure they're going to have anything like that at the market,” Jerry said. “Oh, well, looks like we're walking!” 

“You know,” Grumble thumped his tankard on the table. “You're going to have to get over your fear of horses eventually. We can't keep walking forever.” 

“We can walk until we're rich,” Jerry shrugged. “And then we can buy a flying boat.” 

“I'll get us horses,” Cellinor held up his hand. “I can talk to them and find out which ones are best.” 

Everyone turned to stare at Jerry, until he threw up his hands, relenting. “Fine, have it your way. But I'm not feeding or grooming the damn thing.” 

“I'll be happy to do it,” Cellinor said. Grumble smiled and mouthed a 'thank you'. 

“So I guess everyone should pony up some money,” Jerry said, to a chorus of groans. 

~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor motioned the others to halt, trusting them to do so. It was clear where the bandits they were tracking where going. The smell of woodsmoke drifted on the air, and from up ahead came the distant sound of laughter. 

He was glad they'd left their horses picketed behind them. Cutting through the forest with horses would have given them away for sure. 

Cellinor crouched down in the shrubbery and the others soon joined him. Although crouching was sort of wasted on Þórfríðr. She was still taller than Jerry. 

“I think we've found their camp,” Jed whispered, loosening his sword in the scabbard. 

“Did you see how many there were?” Jerry asked. 

“No,” Cellinor shook his head. “We're still too far away.” 

“So,” Jed scratched his head. “Do we go back, tell the Guild where they are?” 

“Maybe we should scout them first,” Grumble said. “Find out how many there are?” 

“There are at least five,” Þórfríðr rumbled lowly. “The four we were tracking and someone to light the campfires.” 

“We can handle five,” Jerry said. Cellinor could see him twisting his fingers, reviewing a spell. “Hell, we could handle twenty.” 

“Cellinor?” Grumble turned to him. 

“They made a mistake camping in the woods,” Cellinor grinned. “I can send a bird, get you a better count.” 

“But you might need all your spells for fighting,” Grumble frowned, worrying his lip with one of his tusks. “If it comes to that.” 

“I could go invisible,” Jerry shrugged. “Just for a few minutes. Ghost in and out, silent like.” 

Cellinor looked at the dwarf, sizing up his boots. He didn't doubt the invisibility, but the silent part? 

Cellinor shook his head. “Let me send a bird. Then we can decide whether to go for the Guild or not.” 

“Aye,” Þórfríðr nodded. “Get a count of the horses, too.” 

“Good idea,” Grumble thumped Þórfríðr on the shoulder. “See if the number match.” 

Cellinor closed his eyes for a moment and sent a Call. This late in the summer the wood was full of birds, and it only took a moment before one landed on his outstretched hand. 

“Pretty,” Grumble said, flashing an awkward grin at Cellinor. “What is it?” 

“Chickadee,” Cellinor ran a fingertip gently over the birds head. “A quick and clever fellow.” He sent his wishes to the chickadee, and it was so light he didn't feel it leave his hand, only catching a flash of black and white as it disappeared. 

They waited, Jerry absently stripping the leaves off the shrub, while Þórfríðr tap-tapped her nails on her hammer. 

A quick “dee-dee-dee,” alerted Cellinor a second before cold, tiny, feet landed on his hand. 

He reached out with his power, seeing what the bird had seen. 

“They're camped near an old ruin. A fort of some kind,” Cellinor whispered. “I count ten horses, four are the ones we've been following. There were eight bandits in the open. Humans mostly, one Orc, and someone human size, but in a hood and mask – could be a spell-caster, maybe?” 

He thanked the bird, watching it dash off into the woods. 

“So probably no more than a dozen,” Grumble frowned. 

“We can take them,” Jerry stood up, stretching. 

“What if there's more in the ruin?” Jed frowned. “We have no way of knowing what's in there.” 

“There are only ten horses,” Grumble shrugged. 

“I say we fight,” Þórfríðr narrowed an eye, looking very dragon-like indeed. 

“We do need to catch one for questioning,” Jed was already sliding his pack off, reaching for his harp. 

“We need a plan this time,” Grumble (Steve, that was Steve) warned. “Not like last week and those hobgoblins.” 

“It worked, didn't it?” Jerry said, drawing Tim. Whatever the sword said made her smile. Cellinor shook his head. He didn't want to know. Tim had a weird sense of humor. 

“So, we're attacking?” Grumble asked, and everyone nodded. “OK, here's the plan...” 

  



	6. Chapter 6

  


Cellinor loosened his grip on his staff, wiping his palm on his leather armor. He took a deep breath, trying to center himself, waiting for the signal. 

There were ten bandits out in the open now, the same as the number of horses. He squinted, trying to see into the ruins, but the jumble of half-fallen roofs and tumbled stones kept him from seeing if there were any more bandits inside. He hoped not, since they seemed surprisingly well armed. 

All except the hooded figure. Seemingly unarmed, they made no effort to join the other's banter, reading a book instead. Definitely a spell-caster of some sort. 

A flash of sun on white scales let him know that Þórfríðr was in position. Since she was the one most likely to be seen, they had agreed she would move last. Jerry would be casting his spell any moment now... 

Four darts of red light flew through the air, striking the hooded figure. They fell heavily, the book tumbling from their hands. 

Cellinor didn't wait to see if they got up. He charged his own target, swinging his staff at the bandit's face. The bandit staggered and Cellinor hit him across the back, dropping him to the dirt. 

“Attack!” one the bandits shouted, only to drop with Grumble's dagger in her throat. 

“Feed Tim!” Jerry yelled, charging into the melee. 

Cellinor ran toward the next bandit, a woman with a bastard sword. He parried her swing, striking her arm, and she came back again, swinging low. He felt the thud of impact on his leg. He quickly swung his staff, beating her back. She darted in again, fast, so fast, and he was hit again. 

The bandit staggered as one of Grumble's throwing daggers hit her in the back. Cellinor smashed her across the head, and she dropped like as stone. 

His eyes caught Grumble's across the clearing, and Grumble grinned, giving him a (familiar) half-assed salute. 

Cellinor took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. 

Jed had killed one bandit and he'd dropped his two, as had Grumble. Þórfríðr had accounted for three more, including the Orc. Jerry was still fighting his last bandit, but it was clearly almost over. 

“Cellinor!” 

Jed's shout had him dodging just in time - a horse went flying past, hooves barely missing him. The hooded figure was on its back, leaning low, urging it on. They flew out of the clearing, heading for the main road. 

“Shit,” Cellinor swore, picking himself up. 

_“Fucking hell!_ ” Jerry yelled in Dwarfish, the first time Cellinor had heard him use his native tongue. 

“Fuck!” Grumble shouted at the same time. “They've got a _giant_!” 

Cellinor spun, staff raised. A giant was clambering out of the ruin, eighteen feet tall if he was an inch, a tree trunk clenched in his fist like a club. 

“At last,” Þórfríðr shouted, “a worthy opponent!” She charged across the clearing, Molter raised high. 

Grumble slipped in, moving like a shadow, stabbing the giant low in the back. 

The giant roared in pain and twisted around, swinging his club with both hands. 

“No!” Cellinor cried out as Grumble went flying, tumbling through the air like a rag-doll, slamming into a stone wall. He slumped, his dagger and sword slipping from his hands. 

“Grumble's down!” Jerry yelled. He ran in, stabbing the giant's leg with Tim. The giant roared, bashing at Jerry, barely missing as the dwarf dodged. 

“Smash you all!” The giant shouted, meeting Þórfríðr head-on. The twin sounds of Molter slamming into the giant's chest and the club hitting Þórfríðr sounded like thunder. 

Behind them, Jed began singing. Cellinor could feel the power of the Song tingling up his arms and in his hands. 

The giant caught Þórfríðr a mighty blow, and the dragonborn went to her knee. 

Cellinor swallowed, looking at Grumble, so still by the wall. 

He needed to end this fight – now. 

He skipped back five feet, ten, and closed his eyes. He called on all the power he had left. He reached out, and out again. 

There. In the forest. One of the Feyling. He caught the small elemental, pulling it in, changing its form. He twisting its energy to his own purpose and threw it at the giant. 

A grizzly bear, glowing blue-white and roaring in fury fell on the giant, tearing with tooth and claw. 

The giant screamed, battering his foe, and Cellinor raised his hands, struggling to keep the Feyling in bear form. He could feel his power failing, kept going only by the magic of Jed's song. 

The club flew out of the giant's hand and he slipped to his knees, still grappling with the bear. Þórfríðr bellowed and Molter crunched into the giant's skull dropping him in a cloud of dust. 

Jed's singing cut off abruptly as he ran to Grumble. 

Cellinor sighed in relief. That was good – that was fine. Grumble would be OK. Jed would heal him. 

He let go of the spell holding the Feyling and the bear disappeared in a puff of light. 

He swayed a little, breathing hard, suddenly light-headed. Oh, hey - his leg was bleeding. When had that happened? 

Þórfríðr's big hand landed on his head, her nails gentle against his skin. He could hear her murmuring a prayer and felt his wounds disappear. 

“Are you all right, my friend?” Þórfríðr grinned, bruised and battered, but looking very happy. 

“I am now,” Cellinor smiled. “Thanks.” 

Together they made their way over to Grumble and Jed. 

Jerry was already there, looking furious. 

Jed was kneeling next to Grumble, pulling his arms straight, using his hand to close Grumble's eyes- 

No, no, no... 

Cellinor felt his knees give and found himself sitting on the ground. 

“I'm sorry,” Jed looked up, face drawn. “There was nothing I could do.” 

“Dead?” Þórfríðr whispered. “Nay, say it is not so!” 

Jerry gave a wordless cry and kicked a rock across the clearing. 

Grumble lay still, his face gone pale and- 

~ ~ ~ 

Bucky looked at the little half-orc miniature tipped over on its side. 

“What the fuck?” Bucky felt the plates in his arm recalibrate. 

“I died,” Steve winced. He held up a piece of paper, where he'd been counting down his hit points. “First I got tagged by a couple of the bandits, and then-” 

“And then I rolled a critical hit,” Sam sighed. “Sorry. You know I wouldn't-” 

“Hey,” Steve shrugged. “It's OK. These things happen, right?” 

“There must be something we can do,” Thor leaned forward, reaching for the Players' Handbook. “Paladins can raise the dead, yes?” 

“Not at 3rd level,” Bruce shook his head. “If we had enough money we could pay for a spell, but we spent the last of our money buying horses.” 

“What about the Adventurer's Guild?” Nat asked. “Maybe they could do something?” 

Sam shook his head. “You're not high enough in the Guild yet.” 

“Guys,” Steve gave a small laugh. “I can just roll up another-” 

“No!” Bucky shook his head. “No. There's got to be something. You can't just _die_!” 

“Bucky,” Steve gripped his shoulder, squeezing gently. When had he started breathing so hard? 

“I think we need a break,” Sam said firmly. 

“I could order some take-out?” Friday suggested. “Some Chinese, maybe?” 

Bruce, Sam, and Nat headed for the kitchen, and Bucky heard the beep of the electric kettle. Fuck that. Tea and Chinese food weren't going to fix this. 

Thor was hunched over the DM's Guide now, furiously flipping pages. 

“It's just a character,” Steve said quietly, leaning into him. “I mean, I've only been playing him for six weeks-” 

“That's not the point,” Bucky snapped. “You're not allowed to die. Not even when you're a half-orc thief!” 

“Bucky, come on,” Steve snorted. “Cellinor didn't like Grumble anyway. Maybe this time I'll roll up an elf and we can-” 

“I liked you,” Bucky protested. “I just figured I'd give you shit for a few years, make sure you were really interested.” 

“A couple of _years?_ ” Steve snorted. “Really?” 

“Well,” Bucky shrugged. “What's a couple of years to an elf?” 

“I guess we'll never know-” 

“AH!” Thor raised the book in his fist. “Samuel! I have it!” 

Sam came back from the kitchen, six-pack of beer in hand. 

“Whatcha' got?” Sam asked, passing everyone a beer. 

“Divine Intervention!” Thor said. “Þórfríðr shall call on her god, Bahamut, to raise Grumble from the dead.” 

“That level of Intervention?” Bruce said, sipping from a mug of tea. “It's practically impossible. I've only seen it happen once in twelve years of gaming.” 

“Nevertheless!” Thor insisted. “If that is what it takes, then that is what I shall do!” 

“All right,” Sam shrugged. “It's not going to be easy. Let's say – two twenties in a row just for Bahamut to hear you. And then roll 3% or less on a d100 for him to grant your prayer.” 

“That's impossible,” Nat sat down holding her own cup of tea. She slid a cup of hot chocolate in front of Bucky. 

“Not impossible,” Thor shook his head. “Merely improbable; but in the face of death, we must but try.” He took a deep breath and palmed his d20. He held his fist to his head for a moment, closed his eyes and rolled. 

The die tumbled, green and gold, and rolled to stop. 

20\. 

Bucky felt his eyes go wide. 

“OK,” Sam laughed. “Well, that's one.” 

Thor grinned and picked up the die. Everyone leaned forward as he sent it spinning across the table. 

20\. 

“Shit,” Bruce sat up straighter. “I can't believe you got a critical-critical!” 

“Now you just need 3% or less,” Sam frowned, eyeing Thor's dice. 

Bucky almost reached out to pick up the d20. Had he imagined that green flash when it stopped? 

Thor picked up two ten-sided dice, one an emerald green, one diamond clear. 

“The green is high,” Thor said, shaking his fist. He closed his eyes for a second, then rolled. 

They all watched as the dice came up 01. 

This time Bucky was sure there'd been a tiny flash of green light as they'd left Thor's hand. 

Everyone started talking at once. 

“No way.” “Holy Shit.” “ _That's_ highly unlikely...” 

“Are these dice rigged?” Sam poked one with a pencil. “Some Asgard magic?” 

“Nay!” Thor frowned, shaking his head. “You have seen me play these for many weeks. Have they ever rolled unfairly?” 

Steve picked up the d20 and held it up to the light. 

“No,” Nat put her eye at the edge of the table, squinting at the ten-sided. “You've rolled plenty of misses.” 

“But not when _death_ was on the line,” Bruce poked one of the dice with his finger. “And, well, these _are_ Loki's dice-” 

“These are _Loki's_ dice?” Steve dropped the die he'd been holding and it clattered to the table. 

It came up a 7. 

“You see?” Thor scooped up the whole set and began rolling them over and over. They could all see that the dice were rolling normally. 

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Bucky held his breath, waiting for his decision. 

“All right,” Sam finally said. “I'm going to give it to you. Grumble, you're alive, but you lose one point of Constitution. Permanently.” 

Bucky reached for his hot chocolate, trying to hide his grin in the pile of whip cream. 

“And next time we need to talk to God, we're using someone else's dice!” Sam said sternly. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Heeey, Buck? Whatcha doing?” Bucky felt the bed dip as Steve sat down next to him 

Bucky pulled harder on the pillow over his head. Shit - he felt so stupid. Getting upset about a _character_ , for god's sake. 

Maybe if he pretended he hadn't heard, Steve would leave him alone. 

“Bucky,” Steve poked him in the back. “Hey.” 

Who was he kidding? The day Steve let something go was the day the sun rose in the West _and_ crawfish whistled on the mountain. Might as well get it over with. He rolled over with a groan, blinking at the sudden light. 

“Yeah?” Bucky muttered. “What's up?” 

“I just wondered if you wanted to talk about it,” Steve squeezed Bucky's arm gently. 

“Talk about...?” Bucky hedged. 

“The game?” Steve scooted a little closer. “Grumble dying?” 

“Nothing to talk about,” Bucky shook his head. 

Steve gently tugged the small braid Bucky wore on game days. He hadn't bothered to take it out, just falling face first onto the bed as soon as they'd gotten home. 

“You know,” Steve said slowly, “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.” 

Bucky took a deep breath, in through the nose. Hold for three. Let it out slowly. “You know you can't promise that,” Bucky said, voice surprisingly level. “Not in our line of work.” 

“Yes, I can.” From this angle, the jut of Steve's patriotic chin was enormous. 

“And here I thought Captain America didn't lie,” Bucky squinted up at him. 

“No, that's swearing,” Steve huffed. “Remember? It's in all that paperwork we signed – Captain America will not be seen or heard cursing in public.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “And everyone thinks that's _my_ fault. Little do they know.” 

“Fuck you,” Steve said amicably, stretching out on the bed. He dropped his head on Bucky's stomach, making him oof. “At least they let you shoot people.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said, absently petting Steve's hair. “I made sure it was in my contract.” 

They lay there for a few minutes, until Steve rolled on his side, scooting up to plant a kiss on Bucky's chin. 

“You know I'd never leave you,” Steve said softly. “Not for anything.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed. “I know. Me, too.” 

“I'd cross time and space if I had to,” Steve growled low, kissing along Bucky's neck. 

“Mmm?” Bucky shivered. “Time and space, huh?” 

“Yep,” Steve kissed along the shell of his ear. 

“And death?” Bucky said calmly. “You just gonna walk it off?” 

Steve leaned over him, blue eyes intense. “Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.” 

Goddammit. Steve _knew_ he was a sucker for _Princess Bride_ quotes. Bucky leaned up and kissed him, soft and sweet. 

Steve finally pulled away, smiling softly. “What do you say? Ice cream and a movie?” 

“Sure,” Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve and rolled them over. He sat up, shaking out his hair, making sure to wiggle his ass. “After.” 

“Oh,” Steve gasped, licking his lip. “Well, as you wish...” 

  



	7. Chapter 7

  


Cellinor sighed as his horse carried him into the shade. The trees on either side of the road could in no way be called a forest, but it was good to be out of the sun. 

He turned his head sharply at the quick rattle of hoofbeats behind him, but it was only Grumble, urging his horse in front of Cellinor's. 

Grumble leaned backward, draping himself over his horse's rump. The placid piebald didn't even flinch. 

“You liiiike me,” Grumble sang, grinning wide. Upside down, his tusks looked like little fangs. 

“Do not,” Cellinor sniffed, patting the neck of his own strawberry roan. 

“Youuu, like meee,” Grumble sat up, reining in to ride beside Cellinor. Every now and then their legs brushed against each other. 

Cellinor shook his head but made no move to urge his horse forward, either. 

“You summoned a grizzly,” Grumble threw his arms out. “Just to save me.” 

“It wasn't for _you,_ ” Cellinor rolled his eyes. “I had to stop the giant before he killed _me._ ” 

“Nope,” Grumble grinned. “You were avenging my untimely death.” 

“I didn't know you _were_ dead,” Cellinor shot back. The moment he _had_ realized didn't bear thinking about. 

“'Tis true, friend Grumble,” Þórfríðr called from behind them. Her heavy horse shook its head, bridle jingling. “Although if we had, we surely _would_ have avenged you!” 

Cellinor glanced back and smiled at the sight of Jed's little black pony trotting alongside Þórfríðr's dapple gray. If those two could make a relationship work, perhaps a prince and a thief could, too... 

“In fact,” Þórfríðr continued, “I think that would be a fine name for our group!” 

“Please don't say the Avengers,” Grumble (Steve, that was Steve) snorted. 

“Or Revengers,” Jed laughed. “Pretty sure that one's been used before, sweetheart.” 

“Nay,” Þórfríðr snorted. “Since we did not know you dead, we were 'pre' avenging you. Therefore, I say we should name ourselves the Pre-vengers!” 

“Prevengers?” Grumble muttered to Cellinor. “That's not a word, is it?” 

“Not in any of the twelve languages I know,” Cellinor whispered back. 

They did need a name for their group; most full-time adventurer's had one. Last week they'd run into Adventures Unlimited and before that, Ebbet's Enforcers. But _Prevengers?_

“Are you suggesting names?” Jerry shouted from the back of the party. “Speak up! I can't hear you!” 

“What about Adventurers' Assemble?” Grumble called out. 

“Or Casual Encounters!” Jerry yelled from the back. 

“What about NOMAD?” Jed suggested. “With the horses, we're Nine Mammals and A Dragon!” 

“Hahaha, Nomad!” Jerry's laugh boomed from the back. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Are you guys ever going to let that go?” Steve dropped his face into his hands, but his blush was still visible. 

“Nope,” Nat reached over Bucky to pat Steve's shoulder. “Never.” 

“Sorry,” Bruce shrugged, giving Steve a lopsided grin. “I saw the opportunity and I had to take it.” 

“Aw, Steve,” Nat stifled a laugh. “Don't feel bad. That costume was classic. The ultra-plunging V-neck? Those boots?” 

“Don't forget his ass,” Bucky grinned. “In that outfit?” He threw an exuberant chef's kiss into the air. 

“Well, I for one am happy you got rid of it,” Sam fake shuddered. “Not sure I could have worked with you, otherwise.” 

“Oh, he kept the outfit,” Bucky leered. “In fact, sometimes we-” 

“Ah, ah,” Sam shook his finger. “No, no, no. I do _not_ want to know.” 

“I could stand to hear more,” Nat grinned, bumping Bucky's shoulder. 

“Stop,” Steve groaned. “Can we change the subject? Please?” 

“I will save you, Steven!” Thor said. “And ask if anyone has seen my dice bag?” 

“You lost your dice?” Sam frowned. 

“We couldn't find them this morning,” Bruce said. “We looked in all the usual places.” 

“Did you ask Friday?” Nat called over her shoulder, on her way to the kitchen. That was a good idea. Thor spent half the game getting snacks. 

“I'm afraid I can't say where they are,” Friday said sadly. 

“I am sure they turn up _eventually_ ,” Thor shrugged. “They always do.” 

“Right,” Steve said slowly, lifted his notebook as if the dice might be hiding underneath. 

God damn it. Now Bucky was picturing Loki's dice rolling around the Tower, spying on everyone from the vents and crawlspaces. He peered under the table and over his shoulder, just to be safe. 

“Well,” Nat said, dropping back into her seat. “No dice.” 

“See? It's things like that, make me glad we've only got five more hours to go,” Sam groaned. 

“Five hours?” Bucky sat up straighter. “To meet the requirement?” Had they really played that much already? He definitely wanted to get back to Cap duty, but he didn't want to give Cellinor up to do it. 

“We're still going to keep playing, though,” Steve said. “Right?” 

“Yeah,” Sam rolled his eyes. “'Course we will. Maybe not twice a week though! Once a week is enough time to spend with you losers.” 

“Oh, hey! Now _there's_ a name-” Nat laughed, and Bucky grabbed the last bag of cheesy chips just so she couldn't have it. 

~ ~ ~ 

Grumble grinned, looking around the common room of the Undead Dragon. It wasn't nearly as nice as the Cranky Ferret, his parent's tavern, but it would do. He never felt so at home as when he was in a tavern. 

He leaned on the table, giving Cellinor a big grin. The elf was so handsome – with his shiny hair, and pretty eyes, and delicately pointed ears. (Or maybe that was just Bucky, no matter the universe...) 

Cellinor arched an eyebrow and looked away, but Grumble knew the truth! Cellinor liked him! Sure, he kept denying it, but everyone had been quick to tell him how grief-stricken Cellinor had been when he died. He felt the smile slide off his face. He'd really died. He'd known it was a possibility. Adventuring was a high-risk job, after all. Thank goodness Þórfríðr had been there to bring him back. The dragonborn was one helluva paladin! 

And she sure cut a path through a crowd. Grumble sighed, watching her come back from the bar with 5 tankards easily clutched in her enormous hands. He wished he'd had hands like that when he'd been working tables growing up! 

“Did you hear?” Þórfríðr asked, setting down the tankards. 

Grumble nodded. It was all everyone had been talking about. Every conversation he'd eavesdropped, from the stableman to the yard-keep. 

“Aye,” Jerry took a deep drink, wiping his mouth on his arm. “The bandits raided a village called Springfield.” 

“That's a huge step up from attacking travelers,” Jed frowned. 

“Was Springfield very big?” Cellinor asked, sipping from his mug. He made that cute little wrinkle face, as if he'd never had good brown ale before. Grumble smiled in encouragement. Here Celly was, far from home, helping people, trying new things - even though he could stay home and live in peace and luxury. Grumble had never admired anyone more. 

“It was pretty small,” Jed shook his head. “Less than a hundred people? And well off the main road.” 

“So, an easy target,” Cellinor said. “But why bother?” 

“Don't know,” Jed shrugged. “They were sheep farmers. They couldn't have had much.” He slid his tankard over to Þórfríðr, who drank half in one swallow, before giving it back to him. 

“Did they take the villagers for slaves?” Jerry asked, frowning. 

“Some,” Abby, their serving woman said, setting down first a platter of four roast chickens, and then a bowl of roasted vegetables. “Mostly they were after the shrine.” 

“A shrine?” Þórfríðr leaned forward. “To which god?” 

“Antali,” Abby stepped closer, wiping her hands on her apron. “A minor Harvest Goddess. Seems they took the idol.” 

“Still, a bold move,” Þórfríðr said, swallowing an entire chicken leg, bone and all. 

Abby leaned over, picking up Þórfríðr's already empty tankard. “I've heard that the bandits answer to a woman named Ellie. Seeking revenge for her one, true, love.” 

“Really?” Grumble wrinkled his face. “Then why attack-” 

“NO, no!” a human at the table next to them slammed down his mug. “I heard that the bandits are in thrall to a powerful mage. That idol they stole? Purifies food and water. Just what you need when you're making an army!” 

“Well,” Abby sniffed. “Army or no, I heard the King is sending the Adventurer's Guild. They'll put a stop to this.” 

“We are the Adventurer's Guild!” Þórfríðr protested. 

Abby glanced at their badges, and Grumble could see her stifle a laugh. 

“Oh, honey,” Abby said, patting Þórfríðr's shoulder. “You're barely Blues. The King is sure to send Reds. Or better!” 

Grumble could hear her laughing all the way to the bar. 

“Grumble, no,” Cellinor said sharply. 

“I didn't say anything,” Grumble met Cellinor's eyes. 

“You didn't have to. I know that look on your face,” Cellinor scowled, absently moving the food around on his plate. 

“I don't have a _look,_ ” Grumble groused. 

“Yes, you do,” Cellinor set his fork down with a snap. “We need to quit chasing bandits. Before you get killed again.” 

“Hey, I got better!” Grumble protested. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Fine,” Bucky sniffed. “See if I care. Keep getting killed. Keep loosing Constitution until you end up sickly and stuck in bed. That should be easy to role-play.” 

“Oh, hardy-har-har,” Steve crossed his arms. “Look, what if I buy better armor? Will that make you happy?” 

“Maybe,” Bucky grinned. “Couldn't hurt. How do you feel about plate-mail?” 

“'Cause that won't hurt my pick-pocket roll,” Steve shook his head. 

“When your characters are done flirting,” Sam called from the kitchen, “would you mind running down to the pantry? We're out of soda.” 

Steve looked around the table. He and Bucky were the only ones there. When had everyone moved to the kitchen? 

“Oops,” Bucky said, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry!” Steve called out, already moving for the elevator. 

They hadn't gone two floors when Bucky cleared his throat. “Friday? Stop please.” 

The car came to a smooth stop, and Steve snapped his eyes over. “Something wrong?” 

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “Just thinking.” 

“Don't hurt yourself,” Steve smirked. 

“Jerk,” Bucky said fondly. “I was thinking about that, ah, romantic dinner? A couple weeks back?” 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. That had been a great night. Well, except for the rose petals. The poor cleaner-bot had a hell of a time getting them out of the bedroom carpet. 

“I thought maybe we could make it a regular thing? Maybe not the dinner, or flowers, but more a-” Bucky paused, rubbing the back of his head. 

“Date night?” Steve suggested. 

“Yes!” Bucky sighed. “Exactly. What with the new semester starting, and Cap duty-” 

Steve stepped closer and cupped Bucky's cheek. “We should make time for ourselves?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky closed the distance, kissing Steve firmly, again and again. “And it's my turn to pick... What we do... On the next date.” 

“As long as it's not dancing,” Steve said sternly, knowing Bucky could see right through him. He'd dance his feet off if it would make Bucky happy. 

“You'll just have to wait and see,” Bucky grinned. 

God, Steve loved that smile. He pulled Bucky closer, kissing him hard. They made out for a minute or two or maybe five before the elevator abruptly started moving. 

“Sorry,” Friday said ruefully. “But Master Samwise says he's trying to run a game. You need to save it for the bedroom.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said, as the doors slid apart on the empty common room floor. He led the way to the kitchen and Steve nearly slammed into him as he came to an abrupt stop, tennis shoes squeaking on the tile floor. 

Vision was hovering in front of the pantry, contemplating two different bottles of steak sauce. His cape was gently swaying in a non-existent breeze. 

Steve cut his eyes to Bucky and Bucky just shrugged. Yeah, why an android would want steak sauce was a mystery best left unsolved. 

“Hey, Vision,” Steve coughed. “I didn't know you were here! What brings you down to the city?” 

“Ah, Captain Rogers, Captain Barnes,” Vision said serenely. He floated down a bit, his toes just hovering over the floor. “How good to see you. I am here for the Dungeons and Dragons game.” 

“The game?” Steve frowned. Sam hadn't mentioned Vision joining them. 

“Did you check with Sam about rolling up a character?” Bucky asked. “Because we usually do that before the game-” 

“Oh, I already have a character,” Vision interrupted. “A 16th level Tiefling wizard.” 

“You do?” Steve frowned. 

“Indeed.” Vision lowered his voice, giving a quick look around the kitchen. He slowly drifted closer. “Captain Barnes, do you mind if I ask your advice?” 

Steve and Bucky glanced at each other. Why the hell was Vision whispering? 

“What seems to be the problem?” Bucky asked cautiously. 

“I have heard you are an exceptional D&D player,” Vision leaned forward. “And to be honest, I am having difficulty with the nuances necessary to role-play a truly evil character.” 

“So, you have a character,” Steve said slowly. “But he's evil? And you don't think you're playing him right?” 

“Yes,” Vision nodded. “Exactly.” 

“So why not be Neutral? Or Good?” Bucky shrugged. 

“I'm afraid I can't,” Vision said sadly. “Not if I wish to remain in the Evil League of Evil.” 

“The Evil League of - what now?” Bucky snorted. 

Behind them the elevator bell dinged, followed by the sound of someone running. Tony came skidding around the corner, breathing hard. 

“Hey, Caps,” Tony fake laughed. “Cappa-cola's... Capy-bear-a's What brings you here? I thought you'd be gaming. It is game day, right?” 

“Yes, it is,” Steve said brightly. “We just came down to get some soda.” 

“Oh, well, help yourself,” Tony waved at the pantry. “Mi Casa, blah, blah...” 

“Oh, we will,” Bucky smirked. “Once Vision finishes telling us about the Evil League of Evil.” 

Tony face-palmed, drawing his hand away slowly. 

“Vis?” Tony hissed. “What's the first rule?” 

“The first rule of the Evil League of Evil is: Don't talk about the Evil League of Evil,” Vision parroted, drifting higher in the air. “But technically, I wasn't discussing the League or its plans. I merely wanted advice-” 

“Ah, ah,” Tony cut a hand across his throat. 

“Hey, Friday?” Steve grinned wickedly. “What's the second rule of the Evil League of Evil?” 

“I'm sorry, Captain Steve,” Friday said cheerfully. “But you heard the Boss. The Second Rule of the Evil League of Evil is-” 

“Don't talk about the Evil League of Evil!” Everyone chorused with her. 

“Tony...” Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “Are you running a D&D game in the basement?” 

“Nope,” Tony shook his head. He grabbed Vision's arm and started towing him toward the elevator. Vision waved goodbye, the bottles of steak sauce still clutched in his hands. “Not running a game... That would be silly. Who has time for that? Not me, that's for sure... Can you image me as a DM? Nope, that would be-” 

The elevator doors closed cutting off his denials. 

“So,” Bucky said, opening the refrigerator and poking around. “Tony's running his own D&D game in the basement.” 

“Yup,” Steve nodded, pulling 2L bottles of soda out of the pantry. “Seems like.” 

  



	8. Chapter 8

  


Bucky grabbed another of the humanoid beetle-lizards, emptying the rest of the magazine into its eye. He tossed the gun aside, switching to his Gerber Mark II. 

“Goddamn, mother-fucking, _assholes_ ,” Bucky shouted. He stabbed the next alien between its armor plates and was rewarded with a gout of purple blood. 

“I know,” Steve said over the Comm. “Who the fuck invades New Jersey? On a Friday night?” 

The aliens didn't answer, unless you counted another volley of weapons fire. Which was fine by Bucky. He was used to letting his guns speak for him, too. Or in this case, a grenade. 

He pushed the button and lobbed it over into a group of aliens heading toward the Home Depot. He didn't pause to see the results. Another wave of aliens was pouring out of the portal at the other end of the parking lot. What was left of the Paramus Park Mall parking lot, anyway. 

Two rows over Steve barely got the shield up in time, deflecting an energy beam back at the aliens who shot it. 

“Keep your eyes on the aliens, Steve!” Bucky snapped. 

“Can't help it, Buck!” Steve laughed. “You look so nice in that uniform.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, catching the shield on the rebound and throwing it back, taking out another alien on the way. 

Not that Steve was wrong. Being back in his Cap uniform _was_ nice. Hell, he never thought he'd miss it so much. But for looks? It was nothing compared to Steve's ass in- 

An enormous blast of energy threw an entire row of cars into the air. Bucky dove out of the way, narrowly avoiding a tumbling SUV. He rolled to a stop and returned fire. Shit. That sure felt like a critical hit- 

“Steve?” he called. 

There was no answer. 

“Steve!” he yelled. He wasn't going to panic. The blast had probably disabled their Comms. Yeah, that was it. 

He vaulted over a crushed truck, spotting Steve on the ground. 

“Stevie!” _Shitshitfuck..._

He slid to a stop, grabbing the Shield, using it to cover them both. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky gripped his shoulder. “You with me pal?” 

“Yeah,” Steve opened his eyes and coughed. “Did you get the number of the bus that hit me?” 

“Oh, I've got their number all right,” Bucky grimaced, lobbing his last three grenades. That should buy them some breathing room. 

“Let me see,” Bucky shoved Steve's hand away from where it was clutching his leg. A huge gash was open from his knee to his calf, blood pouring out like water. 

“Shit,” Bucky reached his belt pouch, and the spray that Helen had developed. It would stop the bleeding, as long as it had time to set. 

“It's just a flesh wound,” Steve said in a terrible British accent. 

“Let me guess,” Bucky grinned, spraying foam into the wound. “You've had worse? You'll do them for that?” 

They both looked up at the sound of Sam's jet pack. He swooped over the parking lot, opening fire with both guns. 

“I see you two started without us,” Sam's voice came over the Comm. 

“Who's us?” Bucky asked, pushing Steve back down. “Don't move!” 

“I'm heading into the Mall,” Nat responded. “See about the civilians.” 

“I'm still two minutes out,” Tony's voice said. “So save some for me.” 

“Iron Man,” Steve said. “We need you to shut down the portal. We'll keep them busy 'til you get here.” 

“And by we, he means _me,_ ” Bucky said. “Steve's down for the count.” 

“Cap?” Sam asked. “You OK?” 

“I'm fine-” Steve broke off in the face of Bucky's glare. 

“Yeah, OK,” Steve sighed. “I'm giving command over to the prettiest Captain.” He gave Bucky a crooked grin, passing him the shield. 

“You mean me, right?” Sam said, dropping an explosive right in front of the portal. 

“You _wish_ you looked as good as me,” Bucky snorted. 

“At least I come by my looks naturally,” Sam swooped over, picking off the few aliens who'd survived the blast. “Pretty sure that hair of yours comes out of a bottle.” 

“He _does_ use a lot of product,” Steve said, letting Bucky help him behind an overturned car. 

“It's because I'm worth it,” Bucky shrugged. 

“And you,” Bucky turned to Steve. “Don't move. Five minutes - I'm counting.” 

“Yes, sir,” Steve snapped, giving him a salute. 

Bucky shook his head. Yeah, he knew better than to believe that. Steve would be on his feet in two minutes or less. 

Well, that just meant he'd have to work fast. 

~ ~ ~ 

Ten very busy minutes later and Bucky was calling for the SHIELD clean-up crew. He kicked an unconscious alien in its pointy snout as he made his way over to Steve who slung the shield onto its harness, and stood there, jaw tight. Even covered in blood and grime he was still the best thing Bucky had ever seen. 

“Sit,” Bucky snapped, pointed to an overturned car. 

“Sir, yes, sir, Captain America,” Steve grinned, hobbling over to the car and using it to ease himself to the ground. 

“You are such a little shit,” Bucky groaned. He flopped down next to Steve, pushing Steve's torn tac pants out of the way. The wound didn't look too bad. Just a little bleeding where Steve had moved before the foam had fully set. 

“Five minutes,” Bucky sighed. “That's all I asked for.” 

“You did a great job out there, Captain America,” Steve said, obviously trying to change the subject. “Very impressive.” 

“You too... until you got your dumb ass _shot,_ ” Bucky snarked. 

“It wasn't my ass,” Steve said primly. “It was my leg.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes - no way could he out stubborn Steve Rogers. He slid around until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder. 

“So,” Natasha asked over the Comm. “Did anyone ever find out what these guys wanted?” 

“No,” Steve said. “First thing they did was blow up SHIELD's First Contact team.” 

“Ouch,” Sam said. 

“Sorry I was late to the fight,” Tony said, flying by and scanning for stragglers. “Traffic from Malibu was a bitch.” 

“No problem,” Bucky said. “Just glad you got that portal closed.” 

“Sorry about date night,” Steve said, leaning his head against Bucky's. 

“Oh, damn,” Sam laughed over the Comm. “Is that why your boy got medieval on these guys? They interrupted Date Night?” 

“Well, that was foolish of them,” Nat said. 

“It's probably too late to go back to Coney, huh?” Bucky said sadly. “Win you more of those ugly knock-off Avenger plushies.” 

“I think they're adorable,” Steve snorted. 

“You would,” Bucky said. 

“Good thing you left the goldfish in the quinjet, though.” 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky nodded. “Hate to have them see this. Might scar them for life.” He wiped a hand over his face. “I had such plans, too. I was gonna win you everything at the shooting gallery. Feed you your weight in funnel cakes. Take you up on the Farris wheel and neck for a while.” 

“Yeah?” Steve turned his head and kissed Bucky's ear. “That would have been swell.” 

“At least I still got this,” Bucky reached under his tac vest, pulling out an extremely squashed bag of bright blue cotton candy. Tearing it open with his teeth, he offered it to Steve. 

Steve teased some loose and ate it, trying not to lick his fingers. “Shit, that's sweet.” 

“Well, duh. It's spun sugar,” Bucky rolled his eyes, shoved a huge chunk in his mouth. 

Steve leaned over to kiss him, tasting of sugar and dirt and sweat. It was amazing. 

“Your lips are blue,” Bucky murmured. “Better let me fix that.” 

They traded candy flavored kisses until Bucky pulled away with a sigh. He stood up and held out his hand. “Let's get you home and into the shower.” 

“Yeah? You coming in with me?” Steve grinned. He took Bucky's hand, letting him pull him to his feet. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Bucky kept pulling until Steve was pressed up against him. He nosed along Steve's jaw, voice gone low and dark “Oh, yeah. Get you clean all _over_... clean enough to eat-” 

“You do know your Comms are still open?” Sam's voice interrupted them. “Right?” 

“Sure do,” Bucky said brightly, giving Steve one last kiss. 

“Let's go,” Steve said, laughing. He threw his arm over Bucky's shoulders, letting him take his weight. 

~ ~ ~ 

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

He was Captain America. He was the Falcon. He was an Avenger. He'd been a Senior Airman, a Pararescueman, an EMT, a VA counselor, and a _damn_ good Dungeon Master. 

All of which meant he probably shouldn't be contemplating the murder of everyone at this table. 

Forget the fact that one was a god and one was the Hulk. He'd find a way. 

“Sorry, Sam,” Steve winced. “I hate to do it again-” 

“No, no,” Sam smiled tightly. “I meant it when I said your characters have free will. You can do anything you want. You can just blow off the second half of the module. The module I spent two weeks prepping. The one I fabricated minis for. The one I spec'd out. It's no problem.” 

“Good,” Bucky flashed a cocky grin. “'Cause there's no way we're following _this_ thing underwater.” He picked up one of the Sahuaghin miniatures, frowning at the evil looking fish-man with it's wicked looking teeth and razor-sharp trident. 

“They do get three or four attacks per round underwater,” Bruce said helpfully. “Besides their weapons, they bite, and have claws on their hands _and_ feet.” 

“Don't forget the tail,” Steve leaned back in his chair. “That thing probably packs a punch.” 

“Oh, sure,” Bucky nodded sagely. “Let's not forget that.” 

“Guys,” Sam aimed for reassuring. “You know I wouldn't run a killer module on you. This is well within your capabilities.” 

“Don't care,” Nat said around the Twizzler she was chewing. “Dwarves don't _do_ underwater. I'm pretty sure it's in the by-laws.” 

“I don't mind,” Thor shook the last of the Dorito crumbs into his mouth. “Personally, I have had many a battle under the sea. It can be quite fun.” 

“Probably a lot less sweaty,” Bruce said thoughtfully. Thor gave him a grin and kissed him on the cheek. 

“Look,” Sam tried again. “If you want to fix things between the lizard people and the townsfolk, you're going to have to get rid of the Sahuaghin.” 

“Do we even know how many of them there are?” Bucky sighed, setting the mini down. 

“Or what allies they may have?” Thor asked. He held up his copy of the Monster Manual. “According to this, Sahuaghin often keep sharks inside their lairs.” 

“If they have sharks, they probably have other things too,” Bucky said darkly. 

“Were-sharks?” Bruce suggested. 

“The Kraken!” Thor grinned. 

“Oh, god,” Nat whispered. “What if they have Namor?” 

“Oh, no,” Sam shook a pencil at her. “You honestly think I'd put _Namor_ in one of my modules? What do you take me for, woman?!” 

“Sorry,” Steve said again. “I think we're just going to send word to the Guild. Let some other group handle this.” 

“OK,” Sam sighed. “Is that what everyone wants to do?” He nodded at the chorus of 'yes' around the table. “Well, then, I guess that's it. So, same time next week?” 

“Next week?!” Bucky sat up. “But we've only been playing for 40 minutes!” 

“No, really?” Sam started piling up his notes. “I guess it's too bad I don't have another adventure I can pull out of my ass-” 

“If I may, Game-master Samwise,” Friday interrupted. “I think I might be able to help.” 

“Friday?” Sam glanced up. 

“I think I've observed enough games that I can try running one,” Friday said brightly. “If you don't mind me taking over?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam shrugged. “Why not?” 

“What about Sam?” Bucky asked. “What's he doing if you're the DM?” 

“I can run an NPC. I've got a couple I could choose from,” Sam suggested, rifling through a folder. “How about this - Penny, 4th level human Ranger?” 

“Is everyone ready?” Friday asked, sounding as eager as an AI could. 

“All right Friday. What have you got for us?” Sam said. “More bandit hunting?” 

“Well,” Friday said, voice going deeper. “You've all heard the rumors. Someone has been attacking small towns and villages to the South. Of course, all these raids have consequences-” 

Sam blinked as Friday began projecting a holographic image on top of the table. Sad music began playing faintly in the background. 

He watched as scattered groups of people came trudging down a late summer road. Ox-drawn wagons carrying old folks and small children rumbled by. A smudge of smoke was visible on the horizon and in the distance a lone wolf howled. 

Their adventuring group rode into the scene, accurate down to the last detail. The little figures froze, waiting for directions from the players. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky said in awe. 

Sam nodded in agreement. Friday had _definitely_ been holding out on him. 

~ ~ ~ 

Cellinor sighed as yet another group of refugees appeared over the hill. Farmers from the look of them, all their worldly possessions piled into a mule-drawn cart. 

He moved to the side of the road to give them room, glancing behind him to see the rest of his group doing the same. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the wind picked up, blowing the early fall leaves across the road. Primrose tossed her head, unhappy with the coming storm. Cellinor patted her neck, silently agreeing with her. 

Once the refugees had passed he reined in, dropping back next to Jed. “How far to the next way-station?” 

“Another two or three miles,” Jed called over the wind. Fat drops of rain started to fall, and Jed's pony, Hrímfaxi, shook his head hard. 

Cellinor nodded and urged Primrose back to the front. He picked up the pace, squinting against the rain. At least the way-station would be warm and dry. 

By the time he found the turn-off, they were all soaked to the bone, making the bright lights of the longhouse a welcome sight. 

One of the Kings Guard approached, holding up a lantern. Cellinor pulled to a stop, turning back the collar of his cloak, showing her his Adventurer's Guild badge. 

“Sorry friend!” She shook her head. “The station is full tonight.” 

“Full you say?” Þórfríðr boomed behind him. 

“Refugees,” the guard shrugged. “They've been coming in all day. But there's still the guest house. If you've the coin to pay.” 

“Yes!” Cellinor sighed, reaching for his belt pouch. They usually saved money by sleeping on the station floor for a copper each, but on a night like this? 

He passed the guard a handful of gold and silver coins, too cold and wet to bother counting. He knew Grumble would give him grief for it when he found out, but right now he didn't care. 

“Guest house is that way,” the guard pointed. “And the barn is down there. Help yourself to grain and hay. I'll send someone down with your dinners.” 

Before he could thank her, she turned away, hurrying back inside. Something they should all be doing. 

“I'll take the horses,” Þórfríðr called. “Get them settled!” 

Cellinor nodded, already dismounting. Rain bothered the dragonborn the least - sliding neatly off of her thick scales. He had a feeling that if they hadn't been in public, she'd have been just as happy riding naked. 

The rest of them hurried inside the guest house as fast as they could. 

“Well, that sucked,” Jerry groaned, wringing water from his beard. 

“No shit,” Grumble agreed. 

“Let's get the fire going,” Cellinor shook out his cloak. 

“Good idea,” Jerry grinned, casting a spell at the logs already laid in the hearth. In a second they went up in flames and Jerry sat down next to it, so close he was probably singing his eyebrows. 

“Oh, that's better,” Jed sighed, cracking his neck. “I'd hate to be on the road tonight.” 

“Like those refugees?” Grumble snapped. 

“Grumble,” Cellinor sighed. How many times could they have this discussion? “We can't fight _all_ the bandits.” 

“No, but we can find their base of operations,” Grumble said, slipping off his boots and setting them near the fire. 

“What about our assignment?” Cellinor said, slumping into a chair. “Evacuating the merchants of Allanford and escorting them to the City of Haven?” 

“What about the farmers - the ones on the road?” Grumble waved his arms. “Don't they deserve an escort? Even if they can't pay the adventurer's guild?” 

“If we found the bandit's leader,” Jerry called out, “all those people could go home.” 

Grumble thumped Jed in the arm, grinning broadly. Cellinor rolled his eyes. Idiots. He was traveling with idiots. 

The door to the guest house opened on a gust of rain and Þórfríðr hurried in, another person following in her wake. 

“Friends!” Þórfríðr called, shaking water from her massive head. “I bring dinner and a new companion!” She raised a huge stack of warming pans and thumped them down on the table. Cellinor winced. He really should have checked how much gold had been in that pouch. 

Behind Þórfríðr, the figure threw off an oilcloth cloak and shook out her braids. Cellinor could see an Adventurer's Guild badge on her collar – the same shade of Blue as his own. 

“Hey, folks,” the woman grinned. “Sorry to crash your party. But Þórfríðr insisted.” 

“I found her sleeping in the barn,” Þórfríðr shook her head sadly. “On a night like this everyone deserves a fire and a hot meal. Especially a fellow Guildsman!” 

“Of course you're welcome,” Grumble grinned, reaching out a hand. The woman shook it, and Cellinor couldn't help but notice the pretty contrast between her brown skin and Grumble's green. 

“Plenty of beds,” Jerry waved from the hearth. Cellinor nodded. There were four sets of bunk beds, all human-sized. Even if they put two mattresses on the floor for Þórfríðr, they'd still have room to spare. 

“I'm Penny Adebayo,” Penny said, pulling a rack from under one of the bunks. She quickly set it up in front of the fire and threw her cloak over it. 

“Well, I guess you've stayed here before,” Jed grinned, gathering up their wet cloaks. 

“When I can afford it,” Penny grinned. 

The sound of crunching drew everyone's eyes to the table, where Þórfríðr had bitten a leg of lamb in half. She tried grinning around a mouthful of meat and bone and only succeeded in looking decidedly sinister. 

“Save some for the rest of us, sweetheart,” Jed chided her. 

Cellinor saw Penny's eyes widen, looking between the gnome and the paladin. Yeah, that always surprised people. 

A quick round of introductions later and they were all sitting around the table, eating and sharing stories. 

“So you're headed for Allanford too?” Grumble leaned over, grabbing the pan of stew. He spooned some onto Cellinor's plate, before taking some for himself. 

“Yeah,” Penny nodded. “Got hired by someone who wants to move some of their valuables out.” 

“Do you often work alone?” Jed asked, leaning into Þórfríðr's side. She threw an enormous arm around him, continuing to eat with the other. 

“Usually,” Penny nodded. “I work with groups from time to time, but nothing permanent.” 

“Well, it's decided,” Þórfríðr grinned. “You shall travel with us as far as Allanford.” 

“I would, but I'm on foot,” Penny shrugged. “They're providing me a horse as part of the assignment.” 

“You can ride double with me,” Grumble offered. “PotPie won't mind.” 

“You named your horse Potpie?” Penny asked, grabbing the last slice of cake before Cellinor could. She took a bite, giving Cellinor a grin. 

“Better than Fuzzy,” Grumble pointed at Jerry. 

“Isn't Fuzl the dwarvish word for horse?” Penny frowned. 

“Wait,” Grumble laughed. “You made fun of 'PotPie', but you named your horse “horsey?”” 

“Bad enough you're making me _ride_ him,” Jerry threw his hands in the air. “Now you want me to give him a fancy name. What's next, enroll him in school? Buy him a house?” 

Everyone laughed and Cellinor found himself leaning into Grumble. This - this right here around the table, was worth more than all the gold and silver in the world. 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my D&D group. Who in twelve years of  
>  gaming never once let me run an underwater adventure.


	9. Chapter 9

  


Grumble swung up into the saddle, then moved his foot so Penny could swing up behind him. PotPie shifted from foot to foot but otherwise made no complaint. 

“Everyone ready?” Cellinor called, turning Primrose in a circle. Gosh, he looked so handsome today, with his hair in one long braid. 

“Þórfríðr?” Jerry asked. “You bringing up the rear?” 

“Aye,” Þórfríðr nodded. On a day like this, nobody wanted to ride behind Skinfaxi. The huge horse would be throwing mud with every step. 

“If we're lucky we'll make Allanford by dark,” Cellinor flipped up his hood and urged Primrose out of the barn. 

“Ready?” Grumble turned his head. 

“All set,” Penny nodded. 

Grumble kicked Potpie into motion, catching up with Cellinor. 

The elf had told them it would be raining off and on all day, and he had no reason to doubt it. The sky was so dark, it was hard to tell the sun was up. 

Grumble hated traveling in the rain. With everyone huddled into their cloaks, it would be all too easy for someone to sneak up on them. Or lose the road... 

“So, you and Cellinor?” Penny asked after a few miles. 

“What?” Grumble startled. He'd been scanning the surroundings so hard he'd almost forgotten she was behind him. Then her question registered. “Oh, ah – maybe? I'd like to be. More than friends... But I'm not sure Celly does.” 

“Oh, he does,” Penny laughed. “Maybe you should be more direct – all this mutual pining can't be good for your team dynamics.” 

“I- He, does?” Grumble blushed. “I mean, I thought he might-” 

A flash of lightning in the distance made him look up, and he squinted against the rain. 

“Penny? Do you see a light up there?” He pointed to where he could swear a huge ball of light was slipping in and out of the clouds. 

“Huh?” Penny craned around him. “No, why what... Oh, there _is_ something. What is that?” 

Jerry pulled up beside them, looking toward the light. It was high above the trees, moving in front of heavy clouds. Was it trying to outrun the storm? 

“Hey, ELF!” Jerry bellowed, and Cellinor, who'd kept riding turned around. He urged his horse back to the group. 

“Why are we stopping?” Cellinor asked, already looking up in the sky. 

“What do your elf eyes see?” Jerry asked (but it was Nat who was laughing.) 

Cellinor squinted at the light. Grumble could tell it was a lot closer, racing the storm. An air element? He'd heard about them of course- 

“It's a ship,” Cellinor said quietly. “A flying ship.” 

“A ghost ship?” Jed stood up in his stirrups, trying for a better look. 

“I don't think so?” Cellinor squinted. “It's not the ship that's glowing. It's got some sort of bubble around it.” 

“It's coming this way,” Þórfríðr said, hand dropping to her hammer. 

“Maybe we should move off the road,” Penny said. “Before they see us.” 

“Do you think they're hostile?” Jed squinted at the boat. 

“I think everyone is,” Penny said firmly. “Until I know otherwise.” 

“Yeah, good idea,” Grumble shook his head. Even he could make out the ship inside the glowing bubble, now. Three-masted, sails billowing in the wind, a leaping wolf for a figurehead. A flash of lightning lit the sky and he could see a huge red wolfs-head painted on the mainsail. 

It was clearly headed their way, moving fast. As one, they all moved off the road and under the trees. 

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed as the storm drew closer, the boat racing in front. It passed by, close enough they could make out figures on the deck manning the sails. 

“Now there's something you don't see every day,” Jerry said. 

“Can anyone read the name?” Cellinor asked. “The one on the stern?” 

“It's in Demonic,” Jed said, squinting against the rain. “I'm not sure, but I think it says AirWolf?” 

Grumble swallowed, despite himself. He'd always wanted to see a flying ship – but this one just screamed “Evil.” You know, with all the black sails, snarling wolves and demonic writing on the back. 

“It's the bandit's leader,” Grumble said firmly. “I know it is.” He turned the group, ready to argue his point. 

“Don't know if they're bandits,” Penny shrugged. “But they do look amazingly evil.” 

“If they looked anymore evil they'd be a cliché,” Cellinor snorted. 

They watched as the boat moved off, growing smaller, gradually sinking lower in the sky. 

The rain picked up around them as the thunderstorm arrived. They all slid off their horses and huddled near the trees. Cellinor's hands glowed briefly, and Penny looked at Grumble. 

“Protection from lightning,” Grumble said and Penny nodded. 

“Too bad it doesn't keep the rain off,” Jerry complained. 

“So,” Grumble looked around the circle. “Should we follow the flying boat?” 

“It did look like it was landing,” Jed said. 

“We're awfully close to the border,” Penny frowned. “I'm pretty sure the boat was heading into the Kingdom of Tenfalls. 

“That's outside our jurisdiction,” Jed shook his head. “We can't be caught adventuring there - not without permission from Queen Tarantha.” 

“So?” Grumble snorted. “Who says we're adventuring? Maybe we're just tourists.” 

“Yeah, cause we look like people just seeing the sights,” Cellinor rolled his eyes. 

“Such a boat can be up to no good,” Þórfríðr said slowly. “We should at least see where they were going. And then report them to the proper authorities.” 

Cellinor pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right. But no attacking! _Reconnaissance_ only. Agreed?” 

Everyone nodded, already moving to their horses. 

Cellinor took the lead again, leading them quickly down the road, then slower once they left it to head cross country. Twice he spoke with birds, making sure of their path. 

By the time the sun began to set, Grumble knew they must be well within Tenfalls, but this far off the road, there'd been nothing to mark the border. 

Cellinor halted, raising his hand, and everyone came to a stop. 

Grumble could see lights in the distance. Not the bright white that had surrounded the flying boat. This was the warm glow of firelight. 

Without a word, they all dismounted, tying the horses to the trees. 

“Shall I take the lead?” Penny whispered, drawing a longsword. It glowed ever so faintly blue in the gloom. 

“No offense,” Jerry shrugged, drawing Tim. “But we really don't know you or how you fight. Maybe you should keep back? Charge in if we need you?” 

“Fair enough,” Penny shrugged. 

“You can keep the rear guard with me,” Þórfríðr smiled. 

“Grumble,” Cellinor nodded. “You're with me. Jed and Jerry stick together. No one leaves their partner. OK? And remember – we're just scouting! Do not engage if you can help it!” 

Everyone nodded and they began to move as quietly as possible through the trees toward the light. The trees became thinner until they could see a Keep, complete with drawbridge and round Tower. The flying boat was tied up to the roof of the Tower, its sails furled, swaying gently in the winds. 

“I guess we found them,” Grumble said softly. 

“I guess you did,” a voice called out from behind them. 

Everyone spun around, weapons ready, coming face to face with six sinister looking people. 

They all were well armed and armored, and Grumble counted at least three spellcasters. And then, with a crashing of trees, a half-giant came up behind them, dragging a huge iron club. 

So, seven. Seven sinister people. 

They were so, so fucked. 

One of them, an older woman dressed in robes, lifted her staff and the whole area lit up bright as day. 

Grumble squinted against the sudden light, able to make out more detail. 

Besides the giant and the cleric who'd cast Light, there was a Teifling, his horns curling high over his head; a Drow elf woman in green and gold armor; a hobbit in black leather, wearing an eye-patch over his left eye; a Pixie girl, her pretty butterfly wings offset by a menacing grin; and lastly, a figure cloaked from head to toe, wearing a familiar mask. 

It was the same person that had escaped just before the fight where Grumble had died. 

“Fuck me,” Cellinor said faintly. (Or maybe that was Bucky. Hard to tell.) 

Grumble quickly drew both his swords, dropping into a fighting stance. “Come on guys,” He called out. “We can take them.” 

“Oh, please,” the one-eyed Hobbit scoffed. “We'd kick your asses in two-seconds _flat._ ” 

“Oh, I'd like to see you try,” Jerry scowled, brandishing Tim. 

“I am afraid Dick is right,” the Tiefling said calmly. “We are all significantly higher level than you.” 

“What the fuck?” Bucky (that was definitely Bucky) said. 

~ ~ ~ 

“You have got to be kidding me!” Bucky threw his pencil across the table. 

There was only one reason the Tiefling sounded like Vision and the Hobbit like Danvers. God _damn_ it. 

“Barnes?” The Pixie scowled. “Is that you?” Except her voice wasn't remotely pixie-like. 

“What the _fuck_?” Steve looked at the ceiling. “Is that you Cage?” 

A video screen opened on Sam's wall, showing one of the sub-basement storage rooms. An enormous round table took up the middle of the room, with eight expensive looking office chairs around it. Friday was projecting the exact same hologram onto their tabletop as she was on theirs. 

The seven people at the table didn't look any happier than Bucky felt. 

He wasn't surprised to see Tony and Vision; not after their run-in in the kitchen. Coulson, Parker and Princess Shuri weren't a shock either. If those three had a Nerd-off, it would be hard to pick a winner. But Luke Cage? And Carol Danvers? Playing D&D? _Jesus Christ._

Tony took off the green visor he was wearing and threw it on the table. 

“God damn it, Friday,” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me you're not running those losers in the same world we're using.” 

“It's a perfectly good world,” Friday sniffed. “I made sure of that when I generated it for Game-master Samwise.” 

“Samwise?” Carol laughed, and the little one-eyed hobbit on the table did the same. 

“Why is your character dressed like Nick Fury?” Natasha poked the little hobbit with her finger. 

“So I could name him Dick Curry,” Carol smirked. “Duh.” 

“I'm a Barbarian Giant!” Peter Parker waved. “His name's Smash. 'Cause that's what he does. Smash. With his club?” 

Tony shook his head and buried his face in his hands and Shuri rolled her eyes. 

“So, Tony,” Steve said brightly. “You're _not_ running a game in the basement?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony waved a hand. “Whatever.” 

With a swirl of green light, Loki appeared behind Tony, holding a silver platter. Bucky squinted, but he couldn't make out what was on it. Slabs of pink and purple cake, maybe? 

“Brother!” Thor exclaimed brightly. “You are alive!” 

“I think we all knew that,” Bruce patted Thor's shoulder. 

“Yes, yes,” Loki said dismissively. He moved past the gaming table and the camera followed him as he placed his platter on a buffet table set along the wall. The whole thing looked as if a Christmas feast and a Thanksgiving dinner had given birth to a banquet. 

“Holy shit,” Steve whispered. Bucky could hear his stomach growling. 

“It's about time,” Luke grumbled, jumping up from his seat and grabbing a plate. With a grin, Carol followed him. 

And then it was just a free-for-all. 

Bucky could see them piling their plates – turkey, ham, cheesy potatoes, salad... Dammit, now _his_ stomach was growling. 

“Loki?” Thor asked voice strangled. “Are those Bilgesnipe steaks?” 

Loki sat down with his plate and a large glass of wine. Ignoring Thor, he cut a tiny bite of steak and popping it in his mouth. 

“Mmm,” Loki sighed blissfully. “Dry aged 60 days, reverse seared. Perfection.” 

Next to him, Carol carved a huge chunk and stuffed it in her face. 

Thor made a strangled sound and gripped the edge of the table. 

“Yeah, man,” Luke held up a forkful of pink and purple meat. “This shit looks weird but I got to say, it's _amazing_.” 

“Naturally,” Loki said primly. “I cooked it myself.” 

“Friday, can you pan over-” Nat grabbed the edge of the holographic projection and moved it past the buffet table, to a smaller table next to it. 

One piled high with baked good. Cookies and pies, cake and doughnuts all set on tiered silver trays. 

“Do you...” Steve blinked. “Do you _cater_ your D&D game?” 

“Of course, I do,” Tony sniffed. “Well, except for the space-moose steaks and cupcakes. Loki brought those.” 

“We're adults,” Coulson said, carving a slice of turkey. “We're not going to sit around eating chips and drinking Pepsi.” 

“Hey! I like chips and Pepsi,” Peter sat down with an overfull plate. “But this stuff is the best! Look – Mr. Stark ordered Hot Wings just for me!” 

“I am less impressed by catering,” Shuri said, peeling the wrapper off a cupcake. “But Prince Loki _does_ make the best cupcakes.” 

“Oh, god,” Carol nodded. “He does.” She looked at Loki. “You do. Those triple chocolate ones?” Shuri nodded in agreement, mouth full of cake. 

“Thank you,” Loki preened. “I try.” 

“Well,” Tony shook his head. “Now that we've met the neighbors and mocked their food choices, can we get back to the game? Please?” 

“Of course,” Vision said. “Whenever you're ready.” 

“So,” Phil said, wiping his fingers on a cloth napkin. “Are we going to kill them or not?” He picked up his dice, and the cleric raised her staff. 

“No, uh-uh,” Sam threw up his hands. “You can't kill us. Not in our own game!” 

“I don't see why not,” Loki shrugged. “You are trespassing.” His green and gold dice levitated up off the table, and the Drow elf drew a wicked looking sword, the edges glowing with a black light. 

“Plus, we're the Evil League of Evil,” Luke said. The adorable Pixie girl drew an adorable little dagger, dripping with what looked like poison. 

“It _is_ what we do,” Carol said around a mouthful of ham. 

“Prepare to die like the dogs you are!” Shuri grinned, and the masked figure raised glowing hands. 

“Look-” Steve started. 

“So, this League,” Natasha interrupted. “What's it take to join?” 

“What?” Sam said. 

“Join?” Steve said. 

“An excellent idea!” Thor said, already throwing his dice in the bag. 

“Right, yes. Brilliant,” Bruce said, jamming his character sheet in the folder. “So, Sam? Same time next week?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Sam blinked at them. “Wait, you're leaving?” 

“Of course we're defecting,” Nat grabbed her troll doll pencil and tucked it into her folder. “Evil has _cupcakes_.” 

“You know,” Bucky started grabbing his things. “I think I might be having a relapse. I'm feeling very... Evil... right about... now.” 

“You guys,” Steve spread his hands. “What about the game?” 

“I guess I could move our game to Friday nights,” Sam shrugged. “So it won't conflict with Tony's.” 

“Yes!” Bucky pumped his fist. “Two D&D games!” 

“Hey!” Tony waved from the screen. “Hello? I didn't invite you!” 

Steve picked up his character sheet and frowned. 

“Babe,” Bucky leaned down and kissed Steve's forehead. “Sam's game will still be here next week. Right now, Evil has macaroni and cheese. And apparently alien-moose steaks. Just once, wouldn't you like to be the one eating an alien, instead of the other way around?” 

“Does 'not invited' mean anything to you?” Tony protested. “I've got enough problems with these idiots – no one's listening to me, are they?” 

“That's what happens when you're the DM,” Sam said, grabbing his dice bag. “Wait for me!” He followed Thor, Bruce, and Nat as they sprinted out the door. 

“Sure,” Tony grimaced. “Why not... I can run a thirteen person group. Easy peasy, no problem. How hard can it be?” He waved his hand and the video screen went dark. 

Steve looked around at the abandoned table, the papers left scattered on the top. 

“You ready to try the Dark Side?” Bucky held out his hand. 

“Yeah,” Steve grinned. “But I'm not following you – I'm following that handsome Elf, the one with the pretty hair-” 

Bucky pulled Steve up out of his chair and into a quick kiss. 

“So,” Steve kissed him again. “Can our new characters be married?” 

“Evil married?” Bucky shrugged. “Why not? That might be fun.” 

“We can take turns trying to kill each other,” Steve grinned. 

“And then have make-up sex,” Bucky nodded. 

“I'm sure Tony will be _fine_ with it,” Steve said, grabbing his dice. 

“Just get a move on Grumble,” Bucky laughed. “Before Nat eats all those cupcakes.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki the amazing cupcake baker was inspired by [Signals in Courtship](https://archiveofourown.org/works/544088) by Mellonbutterfly. One of my favorite Tony/Loki stories.


End file.
